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THE SAMOVAR GIRL 

FREDERICK MOORE 


/ 

THE SAMOVAR GIRL 

BY 

FREDERICK MOORE 

AUTHOR or 

“SAILOR GIRL,” “SIBERIA TO-DAY,” **THE DEVIL’S ADMIRAL, “ 

“ISLE O’ DREAMS,” ETC. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK :: 1921 :: LONDON 




COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


/ 


• C • 



/ 

JON 22 i92l 

% 


Copyright, 1921, by Frederick Moore 

PUNTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

©CLA617424 ^L. 


TO 

ROBERT H. DAVIS 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

Prologue: The Valley of Despair . 1 

I. Twenty Years After 17 

II. The Intelligence Officer 32 

III. The Firing Squad . ., . . . 44 

IV. The Place of the Vow ... . . 60 

V. The Ataman’s Decision 69 

VI. The Prison on the Hill . . r .> 79 

VII. Old Rimsky Thinks ... 94 

VIII. Peter Lays His Plans . 105 

IX. Ilya Uses His Wits Ill 

X. “An Asierican Has Come!” 121 

XI. The Flight 131 

XII. Hidden Again 140 

XIII. Katerin Plans to Meet the American 151 

XIV. The Samovar Girl 160 

XV. The Trap Shuts 174 

XVI. Katerin’s Stratagem • 182 

XVII. Setting the Snare 195 

XVIII. The Trail Grows Hot .......... 206 

XIX. Face to Face 217 

XX. The Blow ■ 232 

XXI. The Cat’s Paw Has Claws 244 

XXII. The Officer from the Ataman 254 

XXIII. A Life for a Life 265 

XXIV. A New Tune on an Old Fiddle 274 

XXV. The Final Reckoning 285 

XXVI. Farewell 294 















THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


PROLOGUE 

THE VALLEY OF DESPAIR 
Clank! Clank! Clank! 

It was the music of chains. A column of unfortunates 
from the big prison on the hill swung down the road and 
turned into the wide street between the log houses. They 
were on their way out into the taiga to cut wood and 
hew timbers under a guard of Cossacks. The chains 
hanging from the wrists of the convicts to their ankles, 
crossed in front of them but hidden under the khalats — 
long gray capes worn by exiles — made the doleful music 
as the long line of marchers, gray as the cold fog of the 
morning, moved up the Czar’s road and was lost in the 
frozen mists that masked the edge of the wilderness. 

The sun was up, but it was only a patch of weak yel- 
low light against the dull sky which roofed the Valley of 
Despair. Lowering wisps of fog still shrouded the hills 
about the exile settlement — fog that had lifted from 
the frozen and desolate reaches of the Ingoda, from the 
smoking huts of the tiny plain, from the snow-streaked 
slopes on which squatted like a hideous monster the great 
low, rambling prison of yellow-painted logs. 

The morning was bitter cold. The streets were almost 
deserted. The windows of the log buildings still glowed 
with the dim yellow light of guttering candies behind the 
frost-bound panes. White smoke from the chimneys of 
the houses and huts rose straight up into the air, for 

1 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


there was not even the ghost of a breeze. And the cold 
still air carried sounds with startling clearness — the toll- 
ing of a bell at lazy intervals, the barking of a dog, the 
distant cry of a wolf, and now the ringing clatter of axes 
being driven into frost-laden wood by the invisible exiles. 

Shadows appeared at the windows frequently. For the 
Czar’s mail was due this morning from Irkutsk, and the 
house-huddled people were waiting for the first tinkle of 
the sledge-bells. The mail! The mail from Moscow, 
from Petersburg, from Tambov, from the Valley of the 
Beloved Volga, so many heartbreaking versts away ! The 
mail would bring life and death, joy and sorrow, sentence 
and pardon to Chita, in the Valley of Despair. The mail 
would bring the Czar’s word, the heaven-sent mercy, or the 
curt condemnation. The mail, by the relays of sledges, 
was the reach of the scepter from the throne of majesty to 
the Valley of Despair in Siberia. 

None listened more eagerly for the first jingle of the 
mail-sledges that morning than Peter, son of Pfeter, in 
the tiny hut of Gorekin the bootmaker, an exile but by 
the gracious compassion of the governor a member of the 
“ free gang.” Peter, son of Peter, was only ten years old. 
He worked with his father in the boxlike hut on the Sofist- 
kaya, helping to make boots for the officers of the Czar 
and the Cossacks. 

Peter’s blue eyes were se»t deeply in his head, for he 
had never had enough to eat — not even enough sticky 
black bread, or enough eikvah which is the raw, red eggs 
of the big salmon. Peter was a tall boy for his age, but 
not very sturdy. His yellow hair was clipped close to 
his scalp, and his little round head was bent low while 
his hammer tap-tapped at the wooden pegs in the boot 
soles by the candlelight. 

Peter’s father was a political. He had been sent to 
Siberia for thinking — thinking about government, and 

2 


PROLOGUE 


inducing others to think. Which was foolish, for the 
Czar and his ministers settled all affairs of government 
for the good of the people. Yet God was good, for Pe- 
ter’s father had been admitted to the free gang because he 
could make boots, and so did not have to stay in the big 
prison on the hill. And Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsa- 
koff, Excellence, and Czar’s Governor, allowed Peter and 
his father to have a tiny hut to themselves — a place of 
one room, one window, a fire-pit with a stone chimney, 
and shelves against the log wall on which to sleep. They 
even had a battered brass samovar in which to boil water 
for their tea. 

Peter’s father was not old, though his back was bent 
by years in chains before Peter was born, and then by 
more years of stooping over a stitching-frame sewing 
boots. “ Gorekin the old bootmaker,” everybody called 
him, partly because his face was covered with a long and 
heavy beard, and partly because his eyes had such an old 
look in them — eyes which looked past everybody far into 
the future and seemed to be waiting for some strange 
vision to appear. 

Peter was proud of his father, and loved him beyond 
expression. For his father knew everything — even 
knew how many versts it was to Moscow, information 
which many people gave money to know, and knowing, 
kept the secret for themselves. There are many things in 
an exile colony which it is forbidden to know, so whisper 
talk is bought and sold, some dealing in secrets of a cer- 
tain kind, and some selling coming news about revolutions. 

Peter’s little round head was always being puzzled, and 
his blue eyes were always full of questions. He loved the 
Czar, just as everybody else loved the Czar — only when 
there were no soldiers listening, or no secret police of the 
Third Division, men would swear bitter oaths in whispers 
against majesty. It was not easy to tell who might be 

3 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


secret police, for your friend to-day, talking against the 
government of the Czar, might to-morrow prove to be one 
of the Third Division, and then doors of the big prison on 
the hill would open for you, and dawn would meet you 
with an execution squad. 

Peter could not remember his mother. She had fol- 
lowed his father into exile, and Peter had been bom in 
The Street of the Dames. His mother had died that day. 
Peter’s father said now it was just as well, for life was 
really death in the Valley of Despair. And though 
Peter was only ten, he already knew something of the bit- 
terness of life. Had he not seen a man with a back all 
raw from whipping, who had escaped from the prison? 
Yes, he had come crawling to the bootmaker’s hut, too 
weak to go on into the wilderness with the others who 
had escaped, and could only lie all night close to the 
fire-pit, waiting for the soldiers to come in the morning 
and take him away. 

But there were pleasant things in life for Peter. There 
were the ladies who came from The Street of the Dames. 
They spoke Czar’s Russian and were grand ladies. They 
came to have boots mended, but they stayed long and whis- 
pered much with Peter’s father, winking and nodding their 
heads about nothing at all. Sometimes they brought lit- 
tle cakes with spices in them, or a handful of dry tea, or 
a bit of sugar from China, or sweetened ginger-root. 
And sometimes they gave Peter as much as a ruble. Their 
husbands were up in the big prison on the hill, and the 
grand ladies had followed to the Valley of Despair and 
had built for themselves with their own hands a whole 
street of log houses. 

And for some reason which Peter could never fathom, 
after these ladies from The Street of the Dames came to 
have their shoes mended, Peter’s father always remembered 
that he had to go up to the* prison with a pair of new 

4 


PROLOGUE 


boots for an officer, or to measure feet for a new pair, 
or to get some leather — always an errand. And the 
ladies would wait till he returned, when they cried quietly 
into their handkerchiefs, and after much whispering went 
away to their log houses. 

But the greatest puzzle of all to Peter was that his 
father had been exiled for reading books, yet his father 
now read the Bible, which was a book, and told all about 
God and the Czar. But, of course, the Bible was always 
hidden behind the pile of wood close to the fire-pit. 

And Peter’s father read the almanacs which came every 
year from Moscow, and everybody knows an almanac is 
nothing more nor less than a book. Everybody had a new 
almanac every year, and wonderful books they were too, 
for they told about the sun, moon, and stars, the holy days 
of Holy Russia, the goodness and greatness of the Czar, 
the names and name days of grand dukes and grand 
duchesses and all the wonderful things they had done for 
the poor people, and had pictures of saints, and depic- 
tions of miracles, pictures of watches which might be pur- 
chased in Moscow or Petrograd by people who were rich, 
and pictures of skeletons of dead men ! Oh, the almanacs 
were wonderful ! 

Peter had worn his last year’s one out from much read- 
ing of it by the fire of nights with his father. And now* 
the new one from Moscow was two months late. That was 
why Peter watched so anxiously every morning for the 
mail-sledges from Irkutsk, which was on the Petersburg 
side of Lake Baikal. 

So this morning he was pegging away fast with his 
hammer, his father working near by and whispering to 
himself, a way he had when busy. The candle, was still 
guttering between them, the fire in the pit was smoking 
comfortably, and the old brass samovar was singing 
merrily on a shelf. 


5 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Peter leaned over from his bench every few minutes, to 
blow a hole in the frost on the windowpane, and look up 
the Sofistkaya in the direction of the post-house. But 
he could not see far yet, from the fog, though he did see 
the column of unfortunates going out into the wilderness 
with the Cossack soldiers. 

Peter rather feared the Cossacks. They were “ free 
men ” — big swaggering fellows with blue breeches and 
yellow stripes on their tunics and some of them with col- 
ored tops in their tall shlapkas — round caps of fuzzy 
wool. And though Peter feared the Cossacks, he was 
also proud of them, for they were a part of Holy Russia 
and the power of the 1 Czar flashed from the points of their 
lances as they galloped over the plains. And the Czar 
was Ataman of all the Cossacks, just as he was Emperor 
of all Russians. And there were more Russians in the 
world than all other peoples put together, counting the 
barbarians of far lands across the seas. 

Peter longed for the day when he would be big enough 
to become a soldier of majesty, and wear on his cap the 
little oval button — “ The Eye of the Czar.” Then he 
would know all things. His father always smiled sadly 
at such ideas. 

“ Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, a soldier of the Czar ! ” 
Peter’s father would say. “ A soldier against the people, 
a soldier to bind our chains the tighter ! Oh, Peter Petro- 
vitch ! The day will come when your eye will see and un- 
derstand ! ” 

Which was a surprising thing for Peter’s father to say, 
for Peter could see well enough with his eyes, except when 
the smoke from the fire-pit blew down the stone chimney 
and got into his eyes while he was reading from the al- 
manac and learning new words. 

Peter’s father was most anxious for Peter to learn to 
read as well as the priest — yes, even as well as Michael 

6 


PROLOGUE 


Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, the Colonel Governor. Peter 
could have made many kopecks in the evenings, helping 
to skin sheep for the butcher, but Peter’s father insisted 
upon lessons with the almanac by the fire. 

“ The labor of a man’s hands can be forced to do the 
will of a master,” his father would say gravely, “ but the 
labor of a man’s head is his own, and no man can control 
it.” 

Peter could not understand that, because it was im- 
possible to drive pegs with one’s head — it could only be 
done with hands and the hammer. And his father worked 
with his hands, too, and never did a thing with his head, 
or so Peter supposed. 

It was not' long after the column of unfortunates and 
Cossacks had disappeared into the taiga that Peter saw 
two black spots rise on the little hill across the Ingoda 
River, and drop again out of sight. 

“ Ee-yah ! ” cried Peter joyfully. “ The mail comes ! ” 

His father lifted his head and looked up from his 
stitching-frame to listen. 

“ I hear nothing but the music of the samovar,” he 
said. 

“ They have crossed the bend to the river,” insisted 
Peter. “ I heard the bells and I saw the sledges ! The 
horses are coming fast ! ” 

Both sat still and listened, with only the snapping of 
the fire and the song of the samovar in their ears. 
Though they- ivaited in silence, the sound of the bells did 
not come to them down the chimney. 

“ Watch the road,” said his father, and returned to his 
stitching. Peter put his eye to the hole in the frost and 
watched the street up beyond the post-house. But he 
saw only an occasional Buriat, or a Cossack striding 
along, with now and then a Tartar hunter coming in 
from the hills with raw fur thrown over his shoulders, and 

7 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


soldiers- hurrying down from the prison above the settle- 
ment. 

Then, the bells! The first faint jingle came to Peter’s 
ears, and at the same time he saw the galloping horses 
of the leading sledge come up into the road from the river 
hollow, running free for the post-house. 

“Now!” cried Peter. “The post is here! With the 
new almanacs !‘ Please ! Give me the kopecks ! And 
may I run to see if the new almanac has come for 
sure? ” 

Peter’s father stopped work and filled his glass from 
the samovar, threw on the fire a fresh chunk of wood and 
dug some kopecks from his pocket. 

“ Go, little son, but dress warmly — it is too cold out- 
side for a Tartar.” 

Peter shoved his rag-bound feet into pink felt boots, 
whirled his long muffler about his neck and got into his 
gray coat. Pulling his cap over his head and ears, he 
took the kopecks from his father and flew out through the 
door in a cloud of white steam made by the warm air 
from inside the hut as it escaped into the frigid atmos- 
phere outside. 

Already the sledges had arrived in front of the post- 
house. The street was filled with people and there was 
a great to-do and gabbling. Peter could see the Cos- 
sack guards who had come with the sledges dismounting 
from their horses. The half-frozen drivers of the sledges 
were rolling stiffly out of their blankets, to clump through 
the icicle-fringed door of the post-house for their hot 
bowls of bortsh and their drams of vodka. 

Peter ran up to the crowd surrounding the sledges and 
breathlessly pushed in between the legs of the soldiers 
and onlookers. Surely, he thought, this month the al- 
manacs must have come! Twice before he had been dis- 
appointed by the monthly mail and now he was shaking 

8 


PROLOGUE 


with eagerness. He wanted to cry out at once to those 
about the sledges, “Has the new almanac come?” 

But there were no mail sacks on the first sledge. In- 
stead it had five travelers — an old woman, an officer who 
was an aide of the Colonel Governor, two fur-buyers, and 
a little girl — a pretty little girl, who was about the same 
age as Peter. She had pulled back her beautiful cap of 
ermine, and Peter could see the pink of her cheeks, her 
laughing blue eyes and the scarlet silk lining of her coat 
of sables where she had turned the collar away from her 
chin. She was standing up in the sledge and looking 
over the heads of the crowd and chattering with her old 
nurse in delight at having arrived back at her home. 

Peter stared at the little girl. He knew who she was — 
Katerin Stephanovna Kirsakoff, daughter of the Colonel 
Governor. Peter had seen her many times driving through 
the settlement with her Cossack outriders guarding her. 
He knew she was kind to the poor people and to the un- 
fortunates. On Butter Weeks she always threw silver 
kopecks from her carriage to the crowds at the fair. It 
was said that she knew even the Czar himself. 

Peter thought Katerin was as beautiful as a picture in 
a holy icon. He almost forgot about his beloved al- 
manacs as he stood and gazed at the beauty of Katerin. 
Her furs were so rich and gorgeous, her skin was so clear 
and rosy, her eyes were so sparkling bright. She had 
plenty of good things to eat, he was sure — and the cold 
did not hurt her, the guards of Cossacks protected Jier 
from the gaunt tigers in the hills, the officers bowed to 
her, the soldiers worshiped her, and she lived in the great 
and grand house of her father, the Colonel Governor, Mi- 
chael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff. 

“ The Governor comes ! ” rose the warning cry from 
those on the outer fringes of the throng about the sledges. 
The soldiers at once began to drive the people back from 

9 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


the sledge in which Katerin was standing to clear the way 
for the droshky of the Colonel Governor. 

Peter was inside the ring of people about the sledge. 
He was pushed away roughly. His heart sank, for he 
felt that he was to be cheated out of the news for which 
he had run to the post-house — news about the almanacs. 
He could restrain his eagerness no longer, and fearing 
that he would be left in doubt about the almanacs if the 
soldiers hustled him up the street with the other people, he 
ran from a soldier in toward the sledge, and making an 
obeisance to Excellence, raised his arms and cried out 
to Katerin, 44 Did your Excellence bring the almanacs of 
the new year? ” 

But Katerin did not hear him. She was standing up 
and clapping her hands as she saw her father’s droshky 
come whirling down the street toward her. 

The officer in the sledge got out of the robes wound 
round him, and to the ground. He commanded the 
soldiers to drive the people away farther so the Colonel 
Governor might not be delayed in getting to his daughter. 

Peter turned to run from this officer, but slipped and 
fell. And before he could regain his footing on the hard 
and slippery snow, the officer came hurrying from the 
sledge and tripped and fell over the boy — fell flat in the 
road before the post-house. 

44 Fool!” cried the officer, glaring at Peter. 44 Get 
away with you! You dare address Excellence, and now 
you are in my road ! ” 

Peter stood up. The officer struck the boy in the 
face, and Peter fell again, almost stunned by the blow. 
He saw the officer’s boots stride away and recognized 
them as boots which he and his father had made. There 
was a forest of boots in all directions, and the sound of 
voices reached Peter’s ears in a confused medley. 

Peter was ashamed. The blood was flowing from his 

10 


PROLOGUE 


nose and making a mess on his chin and muffler. The 
tears which came into his eyes from the pain were freezing 
on his cheeks and his eyelids were freezing together, mak- 
ing a film through which he could see but dimly. 

The crowd had drawn away from the sledge now, leav- 
ing Peter lying in the dirty snow. Such a sight to make 
of himself, he thought, in view of Katerin! And how 
angry she would be to see that he had gotten in the way 
of the officer and had made him fall down like a clumsy 
bear. 

Peter heard the voice of his father calling to him. 

44 Little son ! Get up quickly and run ! The Governor 
comes ! Do not let the Excellence see you there ! ” 

But Peter could not move quickly for his arms and 
legs seemed strangely stiff and numb and helpless. His 
father ran out into the open space just as Governor Kirsa- 
koff got out of his carriage to hasten to his little daughter 
in the sledge. He was a tall man, ruddy of face, with 
white teeth showing in a smile under black mustaches. 
He wore a high cap of sable with a badge of the Czar upon 
it. His longskirted coat of black was lined with fur 
which stuck out in fringes at the edges, and he wore a 
belt with silver doubleheaded eagles at the buckle. A 
scarlet strap depended from one shoulder and crossed his 
breast, and he wore a saber at his side — a saber with 
a gold hilt, bearing upon it the initials of his Em- 
peror. 

Governor Kirsakoff held out his arms toward his daugh- 
ter as he approached the sledge. The officer who struck 
Peter was beside the Governor, with watchful eyes for 
the safety of his chief and the little girl. 

Peter’s father lifted him to his feet, and Peter brushed 
the icy film from his eyes. 

44 Get away, you and that boy ! ” the officer growled 
as the Governor strode swiftly to the sledge. 

11 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ The boy meant no harm, Excellence,” said Peter’s 
father, pulling off his cap and making a deep bow, as he 
tried to push Peter on before him. 

“ Who is this here? ” demanded the Governor, catching 
sight of Peter and his father, and seeing that the boy’s 
face was bleeding. Governor Kirsakoff’s smile vanished, 
and he scowled angrily, sensing something in the nature of 
a calamity in the presence of his daughter. 

“ Excellence, this boy yelled at Katerin Stephanovna,” 
explained the officer. “ And he tripped my feet when I 
came down from the sledge.” 

Peter’s father swept his cap to the ground in an abject 
bow. 

“ Pardon, Excellence — I will take the boy away.” 

66 What now ! ” exclaimed Kirsakoff, with a close look 
at the bootmaker. “ Is this Gorekin ? Is this what I 
put you into the free gang for? to be under the feet of 
your Governor? ” 

Peter’s father bowed once more. 

“ True, Excellence, I am Peter Pavlovitch Gorekin, the 
bootmaker.” 

“ Then you should be at your boots and not under my 
feet ! ” raged Kirsakoff. “ Do I give you the liberty of 
the settlement to have you in the way with a bloody-nosed 
youngster when my little daughter comes home? ” The 
Governor turned wrathfully to the commander of the 
Cossack guard about the sledges. “ Take this Gorekin 
away to the prison ! ” he commanded. 

“Excellence, my son!” cried Peter’s father, stricken 
to his soul by the disaster in the Governor’s order. “ Oh, 
Excellence, I beg — if I go to the prison, what is to be- 
come of my son ? ” 

“ You should have prized your liberty and kept your 
son out of the way,” said the Governor. “ You think 
nothing of ruining the happiness of my little daughter! 

12 


PROLOGUE 


So your son must learn his place. Take them both to 

the prison ! 99 

And Kirsakoff turned away and hurried to the sledge. 

“What has happened to the poor people? 99 asked 
Katerin, her face troubled as she watched Peter and his 
father. She saw that the boy had been hurt and was 
crying, and that the soldiers now menaced them. 

“ Do not look at them, little daughter,” said Kirsakoff. 
“ They have disobeyed the rules. Was it cold coming 
from Irkutsk? And did you bring me many kisses? 99 

The Governor lifted her out of the sledge and smothered 
her in his arms. At this moment a Cossack interposed 
himself between the bootmaker and the Governor, and two 
soldiers closed in on Peter and his father, their bayonets 
fixed upon their rifles. 

Gorekin held up his hand in a plea to speak once more 
to the Governor. The bootmaker had dropped his cap, 
his face showed the agony of his despair, and the tears 
streamed down his face. His mouth was open and his 
lips trembled with the chagrin and horror of what had 
befallen him. 

“ Excellence ! I submit ! 99 he pleaded. “ But by the 
mercy of God, condemn not my son to the prison 
too ! 99 

One of the Cossacks pushed him back violently so that 
he spun round and staggered blindly in an effort to keep 
his footing on the slippery snow. Then he turned with a 
cry and thrust the Cossack aside, to run after the Gover- 
nor, hands stretched out in supplication. 

“ Mercy for my son ! 99 he called after Kirsakoff. 

A Cossack’s saber flashed, and Gorekin received its point 
in the back — once, twice — and with a scream, fell writh- 
ing on the snow-packed street before the post-house. 

Kirsakoff ran with little Katerin in his arms toward the 
near-by droshky which was awaiting them. The crowd 

13 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


closed in at once about the stricken bootmaker and his 
son. 

Little Peter fell to his knees beside his father, who had 
been rudely rolled upon his back by the Cossack with the 
saber. This Cossack searched hastily through the 
pockets of the greatcoat of Gorekin. Peter, screaming in 
terror, supposed that all this was being done to help his 
father. 

The Cossack found the curved leather-knife of Gorekin 
in a pocket of the dying man’s coat, and flung the knife 
upon the ground. “ He held this knife in his hand ! ” 
cried the Cossack. “ It is the knife with which he would 
have killed the Governor ! ” 

Peter could not realize yet the disaster which had come 
to him and his father. He knew only that the one human 
being who loved him, and whom he loved above everything 
in the world, was hurt and bleeding. The slowly redden- 
ing snow beside his father gave the boy a vague idea of 
a wound which might in time be cured. 

And it might not be real at all, this tragic morning, 
but a dream. Peter saw about him the black circle of 
boots like the trees of a forest; he saw the print of nails 
in the hard snow; he noted a small round stone close by 
his father’s head — the world appeared to be full of 
trifling things, yet suddenly all trifles were invested with 
terror. He prayed even as he screamed, that he might 
wake to find his father reading from the new almanac 
beside the fire in their little hut. 

“ Little father! Little father! ” he cried in his agony. 

The bootmaker coughed harshly. 

“ He tried to kill the Governor,” said a voice. “ There 
lies the knife — and I ran him through with my sa- 
ber.” 

Peter recognized the voice as that of the Cossack who 
had struck down his father. 

14 


PROLOGUE 


“ Little son — ” gasped Gorekin, his dimming eyes on 
Peter, and his hand moving slowly toward the boy. 

“ Thou whom I love ! ” cried Peter, “ come quickly for 
the man who has medicine and can cure you ! Come to the 
watch-fixer who has the charms and the herbs ! ” 

“ God’s blessing on you — I go — to meet — the — 
dead ! ” whispered Gorekin. 

“You are not to die!” cried Peter, and flung himself 
down upon his father and kissed him. Then he sat back 
on his heels, moaning wildly as he saw his father’s face 
graying to the color of the trampled snow. 

“ I shall kill Kirsakoff ! ” Peter shouted. “ I shall kill 

— the Governor ! ” 

“Pray!” said his father weakly. “Pray to God for 

— power and — ” but he could say no more, and making 
an effort to cross himself with both hands he died, staring 
up into the leaden sky. 

“ He is dead,” said a voice. “ Take the boy to the 
prison. It is the order of the Governor.” 

And Peter, sobbing and kicking out against the soldiers 
who grasped him and dragged him away, left his father 
lying in the snow before the post-house. 

The soldiers dragged Peter up the Sofistkaya. His 
eyes clung to the mail bags being carried into the post- 
house, and though he was crying bitterly, he wondered 
if the almanacs had come from Moscow after all. 

Next he knew he found himself in the sandy snow of the 
Sofistkaya, passing his own little hut, and saw the white 
smoke rising from the crude stone chimney. He thought 
of the samovar inside singing on a shelf, of the warmth 
and comfort that he would never know again, of his be- 
loved father who somehow, by some terrible fate which 
had descended upon him out of the skies, was gone forever 
from the bench and the stitching-frame. 

The two soldiers drove Peter on and in time they went 
15 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


over the wooden bridge across the frozen Ingoda, and up 
a hill. The tears on his face and frozen in his lids gave 
him great pain from cold. But he brushed his eyes clear 
of the ice particles and looked ahead. Before him were 
the yellow upright logs of the great prison stockade — 
and the great gate waiting to receive him into the Geth- 
semane of the Valley of Despair. 


I 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 

K ATERIN was awake before dawn. She lay still, 
listening in the dark for sounds of conflict in the 
city. For months she had been accustomed to 
the rattle of rifle-fire through day and night, and now she 
found it hard to realize that the looting and burning had 
ceased. 

The windows of Katerin’s room were hung with heavy 
blankets to conceal the candlelight by night, even though 
in the winter the glass of the panes w-as always nearly 
covered with heavy frost. She had no way of knowing 
how near it was to dawn, or if the day had come. 

Katerin Stephanovna Kirsakoff — that was her full 
name. And she was hiding in an old log house with her 
father, who had been retired from the army of the Czar 
with the rank of general. And her father was Michael 
Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, once Governor in the Valley of 
Despair, as it was known in the exile days before the revo- 
lution. And the log house was in Chita, where Kirsakoff 
had ruled his Cossacks, but Kirsakoff and his daughter 
were now hiding from the Cossacks. 

Katerin rose from her bed, and guided by the dim, 
shaded flame burning before the icon in the corner of the 
roojn, she held out her arms to the image of the Virgin 
Mother, and whispered, “ Save us, Mother of God, again 
this day, from those who beset us, and bring to us help 
from our enemies in our time of danger! ” 

She continued to whisper her praj^ers while she dressed 
in the dark. Then she went to one of the windows and 

17 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


pulled aside the blanket. She scraped a tiny hole in the 
frost so that she might look down into the courtyard, to 
the end of the street and out over the plains which 
stretched away from the city toward the border of Man- 
churia, many versts away. In that direction lay safety, 
but Katerin knew that she could not get out of the city, 
much less cross those frozen plains. 

The subdued light of morning coming in through the 
white frost on the panes revealed her as a woman of me- 
dium height, of figure slender and supple, and clad in a 
trailing velvet house-dress of wine-red. Thrown over her 
shoulders, and partly covering the faded velvet of the 
dress, was a sleeveless coat of sable. She had the oval, 
high-bred face of the untitled nobility of Russia. The 
Kirsakoffs were one of the old boyar families who had al- 
ways served their emperors as officers and administrators 
in the empire which spanned half the world. 

Katerin had inherited all the best qualities of her race 
and her class. As the daughter of General Kirsakoff she 
had grown up like an Imperial princess. Educated by 
tutors from Paris and Petersburg, she had also learned to 
ride like a Cossack. And as her mother had died when 
Katerin was a small girl, she had the poise of a woman, 
who, though still young, had presided over her father’s 
table in the Governor’s palace — the Government house. 
So all her life she had been accustomed to a deference 
which was akin to that granted to royalty. 

Now Katerin and her father were fugitives. The fight- 
ing between the various factions in Chita was over; the 
Cossacks were in control of the city — and controlling the 
Cossacks was a Mongol chieftain who had set himself up as 
the ruling prince and ruled with firing squads. 

Months of terrorism in the city had made Katerin 
pale and wan. Her blue eyes were sad and deep set, and 
she had an expression of melancholy. The pallor of her 

18 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


cheeks was accentuated by her black hair, which was 
drawn down over her ears tightly. Her long neck, with 
its delicate lines, suggested pearls. She had pearls, but 
she did not dare wear them in these days. They were 
buried in the courtyard of the old log house. 

When she walked it was with a slow and languorous 
grace. The carriage of her beautiful head was reminis- 
cent of the portraits of the members of the Imperial fam- 
ily which had once hung on the walls of the home from 
which she had fled. It was now only a charred ruin. 

Katerin remained at the window, peering out with 
anxious eyes. A trio of Cossack soldiers were huddled 
about the glowing remnants of their night-fire in the 
street. These were men in the army of the Ataman Zoro- 
g off, the half-Mongol, half-Cossa*ck lietman who ruled the 
Valley of Despair. The Ataman, in spite of his preten- 
sions to leadership, was only a brigand with an army of 
adventurers and conscripts at his back, bent upon enrich- 
ing himself by levying upon the fortunes of all the rich 
people in his territory. And he collected the tribute which 
he exacted from them under threats of death — and by 
executions. 

Katerin watched the gray light of the new day grow 
over the frozen and desolate landscape. A thin mantle of 
snow covered the plains below the hills which walled in the 
valley on three sides. There were a few rude peasants’ 
huts out on the flats, with white smoke rising up from 
stone chimneys. A long column of staggering telegraph 
poles ran off beyond a spur of hill and marked the line of 
the railroad in this direction. 

She saw a small band of Cossacks come galloping in 
toward the city. They were racing to the warmth of the 
barracks after a night spent on patrol. These men be- 
longed to the outer cordon — the chain of mounted sol- 
diers which Zorogoff kept about the city to make sure no 

19 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


one entered without his knowledge, and to insure that none 
escaped. Before he had organized his power, some of the 
wealthy citizens had escaped by the railroad, but now the 
Ataman had his troops on guard at the railroad station. 
And his spies were busy in the city. It was impossible to 
leave if he did not grant permission. The KirsakofFs did 
n'ot dare to ask for it. 

The room in which Katerin stood looking out of the 
window was filled with a queer mingling of rich furnish- 
ings and crudely built peasant household goods. The 
floor was covered with a thick blue carpet, thrown down 
hastily after being smuggled by night from her old home 
before the building had been burned. Faithful servants 
had brought it, but there had been no attempt to put it 
down properly — it was merely tucked in at the sides of 
the room in order to make the fabric fit. 

The walls were covered with an ancient and faded 
paper. The ceiling had once been covered with colorful 
decorations, but now the plaster was cracked, and leaks in 
the roof had turned the paint of the figures into grotesque 
patterns. 

The bed was hidden by a Chinese screen of carved 
leather, also saved from the old home before the looters 
had plied the torch; a great samovar of chased and fili- 
greed silver stood upon an old wooden bench brought 
from the kitchen on the floor below; a table of rough 
boards was covered by purple silk, and on it stood an 
ornate candelabra of marble and bronze with the arms 
sadly bent, so that the candles could not stand erect; 
blankets of fur covered chairs rudely cut with an ax and 
fashioned with a primitive hammer; and a monstrous 
black stove built into the wall reached to the ceiling. 

Katerin pulled the blanket away from the window and 
made it fast to the casing with a string. Just then a 
gentle tapping came at one of the doors of the room. 

20 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


She laughed cheerily and opened the door. Her father 
stood before her. 

General Kirsakoff was tall, but thin and bent with age. 
His face was gaunt, but the bones of his cheeks were 
partly concealed by a white beard which was indifferently 
trimmed to a point at the chin. His gray eyes were dim, 
yet held some of their old fire and the look of an eagle — 
stern eyes looking out from under gray brows and a fore- 
head furrowed by worries and his years. His head was 
covered with sparse white hair, which had a tendency to 
stand straight up, and waved when he moved his head 
quickly. 

44 Ah, the cold is like a wolf 1 ” said Michael, his hands 
clasped together as he shivered. 44 Has not Wassili come 
up with the fire? My teeth ache from the cold ! ” 

Katerin gave him a look of solicitude, and then took 
his hands and rubbed them. 

44 1 thought you would sleep longer, so I did not call for 
Wassili. And here you are dressed — but you should 
have a blanket over your shoulders.” 

44 It is only my feet and my hands — and my teeth — 
that are cold. Let us have the samovar singing, and 
something hot. My poor old bones cannot stand the cold 
so well as they did. And this old house is damp — we 
must have a good fire to-day, happen what will.” 

He looked at Katerin closely, searching her face for 
signs of anxiety, but her whole manner had changed at 
his entrance to the room, and now as she went to the door 
to the hallway to call down to Wassili, the servant, she 
hummed a tune. She knew her father well enough to 
understand that his spirit must be kept up. He had been 
giving way recently to long spells of despondency. 

Michael was wearing one of his old uniforms of a gen- 
eral. It had been Katerin’s idea that he resume the dis- 
carded garments of authority, for she knew that he gained 

21 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


some comfort from it and that it helped him to forget the 
dark days which had come upon them. But Michael 
was only a shadow of his former self. His knees bent 
under him, his attenuated form did not fill the tunic, his 
hands were white and withered. They shook, as did his 
head at times, with the palsy of his age and feebleness. 
Yet the old general was still a striking figure in the gray 
tunic with the white cross hanging from its collar, the 
wreath and sword of another order of the Czar on his 
breast. A leather strap crossed his shoulder and came 
down athwart the front of the tunic. The heavy gold 
straps on his shoulders marked his rank. His trousers 
were blue with a pair of narrow gold stripes at the sides, 
and the belt about him had a silver buckle in front with 
the double-headed eagle of the Romanoffs. 

“ So this is another day, little daughter,” said Michael, 
as he sat down upon a bench and stroked his beard. 44 An- 
other day of waiting — waiting till these devils have lost 
their power to the army of the Emperor.” 

“ Another day of hope, my father,” said Katerin. 
44 What ! Does not the day at the windows give you 
courage. Perhaps the Americans will come up from 
Vladivostok and save us. It is then that Zorogoff will 
have to change his ways.” 

44 Poof ! The Americans will not come,” said Michael 
wearily. 44 Do not put your hopes in the foreigners. 
Nothing will happen from that direction which will be 
of any good to us.” 

44 Something is bound to happen that is good for us,” 
insisted Katerin. 44 The forces of evil cannot always be 
in power. Have we not sent word to our friends who 
escaped? Will they not get our letters? Will they not 
do something to get us away from the city? All we must 
do is to have patience and be brave. God is with the 
brave.” 


22 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


66 Yes, the young are brave,” said Michael. “ And it is 
you who are brave, my daughter. I am too old to have 
much heart left. But there are two things against us — 
one of them is our accursed money. I wish we had never 
saved it, but for that you will need it.” 

“ And what is the other thing that is against us ? ” asked 
Katerin with surprised eyes, as she turned to the door to 
look below for Wassili. 

“ Your beauty, Katerin Stephanovna,” said her father. 
“ How many times in the old days have I thanked the holy 
saints for your beauty! Yet I mourn now that you are 
so beautiful, for it may be your curse. I have had a 
dream of evil omen, yet I cannot remember it — though 
it left me downcast. If these devils of Zorogoff dare lay 
a hand upon you ” 

Katerin ran to him and kissed him hastily. 

“ Oh, nonsense ! I will not be so beautiful, and you will 
not be so depressed as soon as the samovar sings and you 
have had your tea. You make much of little things — 
and you must not keep dreams in your mind. Now! 
Here comes Wassili with the fire for the samovar! ” 

Wassili came in, a whiskered moujik in clumsy boots, 
bearing fire on a shovel. Some of the burning coals he 
put into the stove, and with the scattered remnants fired 
the samovar and went below again for water. 

“ It is more dangerous to give the money than to keep 
it,” went on Michael musingly. He seemed bent on study- 
ing out the problems which confronted him, as if the 
dream which he had mentioned had driven him into making 
some decision. 

“ If we could buy our way out of the city,” suggested 
Katerin, “ I would be willing to give it up to see you in 
comfortable surroundings.” She was before a little mir- 
ror on a table, combing out her hair. 

“ Once Zorogoff had the money, he would destroy us so 

23 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


there would be no witness against him — no claim against 
him in future,” said Michael. “ That is what happened 
to Rioumines — he gave up his money willingly — and 
then he was killed. So there is no safety for us in beg- 
garing ourselves. By the Holy Saints ! I would rather 
burn all the rubles than give them to Zorogoff — but even 
then he would not believe that they had been destroyed, 
and would kill us for refusing to surrender them. And 
I would sooner die a beggar than have your fortune fall 
into the hands of this Mongol ! ” 

“ Come ! Sit by the fire and warm yourself,” said 
Katerin, pushing a bench toward the front of the stove, 
which was now crackling merrily with the wood. “ We 
are safe enough here till the Americans come.” 

“ Oh, the Americans will never come,” said Michael, as 
he settled himself before the fire and held out his hands 
to the heat. “ We must use our wits and get away from 
Chita — to Harbin or Vladivostok. Others have done it. 
We might send Wassili to Harbin for help.” 

u That would do no good. Our friends cannot come 
back here to help us. If they did, they could not fight 
Zorogoff’s army. We must keep up good hope for what- 
ever the future, holds for us, and ” 

There came a hammering at the outer gate of the court- 
yard. Katerin checked her words and stood immovable, 
her eyes on her father in sudden fear of what the summons 
below might mean. The noise outside stopped as abruptly 
as it had begun, and then was resumed — insistent, com- 
pelling, ruthless. It sounded like the thumping of rifle 
butts against the planks of the gate. Whoever it was 
that demanded admittance was not to be denied. There 
was in the noise a peremptoriness which indicated that if 
there happened to be any appreciable delay in opening the 
gate, it would be smashed down without further ado. 
“What is that?” asked Michael. “By the Holy 
24 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


Saints ! The soldiers of the Ataman have come upon 
us ! ” 

He sprang up and went to the window, where he put 
his eye to the hole in the frost, and looked out. Katerin 
pressed close to him. 

44 Soldiers at the gate ! ” whispered Michael, and as he 
stood staring at his daughter, they heard Wassili shouting 
in the hall below. 

44 Master ! Master ! 99 

Katerin crossed herself and bowed her head in the direc- 
tion of the icon as she ran to the door and called down 
to Wassili, asking what it was that he wanted. 

44 The soldiers are outside — pounding to get in ! 99 

44 Then let them in,” commanded Katerin. 44 We can- 
not fight them.” She ran back across the room to the 
window and looked down to the court — she could see 
the tops of the tall Cossack caps over the upper edge of 
the paling. There were at least a dozen of them, and 
above them here and there was the glittering point of a 
bayonet. 

44 We are in God’s hands ! ” cried Katerin. 

44 We shall know what fate holds for us now,” said her 
father, drawing up toward the stove. 44 We have been in 
doubt long enough. It was the smoke from our chimney 
which drew them, without doubt.” 

44 They will want the money,” said Katerin. 44 It may 
as well go to them — enough to stop their greed.” 

Michael went to her and put his hands upon her shoul- 
ders. He looked into her face, tears in his own eyes. 
46 We will not give them the money,” he whispered. 44 Let 
them kill me if they will. I doubt that they will dare to 
do it — but my time is short at best. This is my dream ! 
But you must think of yourself and know that if they take 
all we have, you will be helpless — a beggar in a land that 
is beggared, to die of hunger or by your own hand. Make 

25 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


no bargain with them between me and the money ! I 
command you ! Do not give a ruble of it to keep me alive 
a minute ! ” 

44 If you die, I shall not live,” said Katerin, and taking 
his face between her hands, kissed him tenderly on the 
forehead and threw her arms about his neck, dry-eyed in 
her anguish. 

64 1 should like to reach the sky, but my arms are too 
short,” said Michael, expressing his helplessness by the old 
Russian proverb. 44 I think of having an army at my 
back — I, an old man, weak and already looking into my 
own grave. It is of you I think, Katerin Stephanovna! 
I would sell my soul to save you — yet the money must 
be kept if you are to live ! ” 

46 1 can hear the soldiers in the yard,” said Katerin. 
44 What can we do? We have a few rubles in the Chinese 
casket — five thousand in fives and tens. They make a 
fat bundle. We can give them up — and say they are all 
we have.” 

44 Do not be tdo ready to surrender the money,” said 
Michael. 44 But that is what we shall do. If they de- 
mand more ” 

44 Hush ! They are coming up the stairs. Come ! 
Quick ! Sit here by the table ! And take your saber ! 
Be bold with them, as befits your rank and your old place, 
but remember that we cannot resist ! ” 

As she talked, Katerin grabbed from a chest her father’s 
saber and snapped it into the old general’s belt. Then 
she pulled him to the table and sat him on a bench so 
that he faced toward the fire. This was no more than 
done when a man could be heard mounting the top of the 
stairs, and presently the visitor looked in cautiously at the 
open door. 

The intruder was a Cossack officer. He wore a tall 
cap of white, shaggy wool, thrust back on his head. A 

26 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


lock of his black hair hung down athwart his forehead. 
His eyes were black and small, his mouth heavily lipped, 
his cheeks inclined to swartness from exposure, though 
the cold of the morning had given his skin a ruddy glow. 
He wore a long greatcoat with the cream-colored skin of 
the sheep outside and the wool inside visible at the edge 
in front and at the bottom of the skirt. On his shoulders 
were tin stars — he was a captain in Zorogoff’s army. 
From the skirt of his coat on one side hung the toe of a 
heavy saber-scabbard. 

The captain stepped into the room after a sharp glance 
at Katerin and her father. Then he looked about the 
room suspiciously, and having made sure that no others 
w r ere present, he bowed politely, at the same time clicking 
the spurred heels of his black boots. 

“ You are Kirsakoff,” said the officer abruptly. “ I 
am Captain Shimilin, and I have come from the Ataman 
Zorogoff.” 

Michael, his hand on the hilt of his saber, sitting erect, 
turned his head and surveyed the Cossack coldly. Fi- 
nally, he said, “ Captain, you are speaking to General 
Kirsakoff.” 

Shimilin shrugged his shoulders, and a smile lurked on 
his lips. “You were once a general — but the Czar is 
dead. I do not have to be told who you are, Kirsakoff.” 

“ Oh, you have heard of the Czar ! ” said Katerin. 

Shimilin stared at her, and then took off his cap. He 
seemed willing to ignore her irony, but his look conveyed 
an appreciation of her beauty, and he allowed his eyes to 
linger upon her. But there was no disrespect in his man- 
ner. 

Katerin met his steady gaze without any indication 
that the Cossack captain’s scrutiny meant anything more 
than the usual deference and adulation due her person and 
position as in the old days. She made a pretty picture, 

n 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


standing beside her father — the superb carriage of her 
head, the slashes of red velvet of her sleeves, the gray of 
the sable coat and the swirl of the red trailing skirt about 
her feet. She suggested a queenly consort at an audience 
by royalty. 

Shimilin stood as if waiting for something to happen. 
In a short time two men came in with rifles. Their faces 
were rotund, their noses short and flat, and they were 
dark enough to be full-blood Mongols — Buriats, these 
were, descendants of the men who had followed Genghis 
Khan as his conquering hordes swept over Asia. They 
were poorly dressed in ragged, old coats, with boots rein- 
forced with skins and furs wrapped about their tops. 
But they wore the high caps of Cossacks, which made 
them appear to be taller than they really were. This 
pair appraised the contents of the room, and having 
judged the value of its visible loot, turned their beadlike 
eyes upon Katerin — eyes full of menace, eyes like the 
eyes of wolves upon a quarry. 

“ Have you come with a message from the Ataman? ” 
asked Katerin, when she saw that the Cossack did not seem 
to know how to proceed with his business. She wanted to 
hold the situation in her own hands as well as she could, 
and so far she felt that Shimilin had not shown himself 
to be particularly dangerous. She did not intend to be- 
tray to him that she and her father were in any way per- 
turbed by an informal call on the part of soldiers from 
the Ataman Zorogoff. To show fear would be fatal and 
only her wits could save her. 

The Cossack did not reply at once, but strode across 
the room, threw off his greatcoat, and sat down on a 
bench opposite Michael. Shimilin seemed in no hurry, 
but acted as if he wished to impress father and daughter 
with his own importance as expressed in his uniform. He 
wore a gray tunic with gold shoulder straps, a brace of 

28 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


pistols in his belt, a fine saber with a hilt of silver, and blue 
riding breeches. 

44 Yes, I bring a message from the Ataman,” he began, 
elbows on knees, and leaning forward and staring at the 
floor. 44 You know, of course, that the Ataman’s army 
has been protecting the city from looters.” 

44 Beggars are always safe from robbers,” said Michael. 

Shimilin lifted his head and looked at the general in 
surprise. 

44 Beggars! I like a joke, Kirsakoff.” 

44 It is no joke being a beggar,” put in Katerin. 

44 You have millions of rubles,” said Shimilin. 

44 It is easy to count the money in the pockets of other 
people,” said Katerin. 44 We were robbed of all we had 
long before the Ataman Zorogoff began to rule.” 

Shimilin’s face took on a sly look. 44 Is it that you do 
not like the Ataman Zorogoff? Are you opposed to his 
rule ? ” 

44 I suppose Zorogoff would give up his power if we said 
we preferred another ruler,” retorted Katerin. 44 If you 
came here to trick us into saying anything against Zoro- 
goff, it will not be said. And it takes little of your breath 
to talk of millions of rubles. Does the Ataman expect us 
to hand over to him a fortune which does not exist? ” 

44 You talk like all the others,” said Shimilin wearily. 
44 Partridges are killed with silver bullets — and so are 
robbers. An army cannot live on air. The Ataman 
needs money.” 

44 Protection from bandits ! What difference does it 
make whether bandits and looters take our money, or Zoro- 
goff? ” asked Michael sharply. 44 If we had the money — 
what would it matter to us who got it if we lost it? ” 

44 The Ataman asks a loan,” said Shimilin. 44 His gov- 
ernment will repay you. Am I to tell the Ataman that 
you regard him as a robber? ” 

29 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ We have but a few rubles,” said Katerin hastily, to 
prevent her father from saying something which would 
draw the wrath of the captain, for the old man was show- 
ing his anger and was ready to defy Shimilin. “ It is all 
the money we have left.” 

“ How much ? ” asked Shimilin. 

“ Probably ten thousand rubles,” said Katerin. “ I 
have not counted it lately, but it is all we have to buy our 
food. What shall we eat if you take it? ” 

Shimilin smiled. “ That is not my problem. You can 
find more money, or borrow. But we know you have 
plenty. Ten thousand rubles will not satisfy the Ataman. 
I will take it, but only with the understanding that it is 
mine — to intercede with the Ataman for you. You 
might find it difficult to argue with his soldiers — in his 
military prison.” 

Katerin shrugged her shoulders. “ True. If the Ata- 
man should want to send us to prison, we could not pre- 
vent him. At least, he would have to feed us there.” 

“ And is that the way Zorogoff will protect us from 
robbers?” demanded Michael. “If we have no more 
money, we must go to prison, eh! And that is what 
Zorogoff calls ruling, I presume. Hah ! ” 

Katerin went behind the screen which shielded her bed 
and returned with a large lacquered cabinet. She opened 
it and took out several packets of rubles of the old Im- 
perial issue. 

“ This is our fortune,” she said, with a gesture at the 
casket, and turned away. 

“ Do you expect the Ataman to believe that ? ” asked 
Shimilin, as he stood up and looked into the casket. 

“ I cannot do the Ataman’s thinking,” she retorted. 
“ I do not give it — you must take it.” 

Shimilin got into his greatcoat, and leisurely stuffed 
his pockets with the packets. When he had taken the 

30 


TWENTY YEARS AFTER 


last, he bowed to the glowering Michael in a show of polite- 
ness. 

“ I will do what I can with the Ataman in your behalf,” 
he said. “ But I doubt if I will be able to alter his inten- 
tions toward you — and I am sure that we shall meet 
again.” 

And Shimilin made a gesture to his two soldiers, walked 
through the door, and the trio clumped down the stairs. 

“ This means war with the Ataman,” said Michael, as 
they heard the gate creak on its ancient hinges as their 
visitors went into the street. “ Before prison, we shall 
take the poison together, my daughter.” 

“We shall not die by our own hands till the last 
minute,” said Katerin. “We must pray that the Ameri- 
cans will come.” 

“ If they come at all it will be too late,” said Michael. 
“ We, who have conquered Asia, will be destroyed by Asia 
— we shall be lost in a yellow flood. The Mongol rules 
now.” 


II 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 
N American army transport came lurching out 



of the Japanese sea, and, following the lead of 


a gray and gaunt destroyer which had come out 


to meet the troopship, she swung slowly into the Gulf of 
Peter the Great. 

The cliffs of the shore line of Siberia looked bleak and 
wind-whipped, desolate and snow-slashed. The first blasts 
of winter had swept the land. Brown and dull it looked, 
sullenly waiting the onset of northern winds with smother- 
ing cold from the Pole. 

The transport seemed reluctant to approach the shore 
of such an inhospitable land. Her gray war-painted 
sides were festooned with sea-grime from the Pacific. Her 
pace was slow, as if she mistrusted the hills overhanging 
Vladivostok. She was all for caution, though the tum- 
bling destroyer drove ahead of her like a terrier leading 
the way for a suspicious mastiff. 

Among the officers crowding the upper deck of the 
transport was a young man wearing single silver bars on 
the shoulders of his khaki tunic. On his collar were little 
circles of bronze enclosing eagles fashioned from the same 
metal. To those who understood such things, they pro- 
claimed him to be a First Lieutenant of the Intelligence 
Division of the General Staff of the United States Army. 

Lieutenant Gordon was a sturdy chap, of good height. 
His cleanly shaven face was inclined to ruddiness. His 
chin was generously molded, his jaw had a squat square- 
ness to it which gave the lower half of his face a suggestion 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 


of grimness, but the good-natured twinkle of his blue eyes 
belied this grimness. Still, he was reserved — perhaps 
too serious for one of his age, too moodily self-contained. 

He had kept to himself a good deal on the passage of 
the transport from San Francisco. While others of his 
age had been romping the decks and singing and making 
gay, he had clung to his cabin. He said that he was 
studying Russian. 

When the transport began to draw near to the coast 
of Siberia, Gordon had stood nearly all day alone in a 
sheltered nook at the head of the upper deck where the 
shrouds came down to the rail and prevented more than 
one person’s getting into the comer. He seemed always 
to gravitate to spots in the ship which would insure his 
being alone or cut off in some way from the crowds. Then 
he would stand motionless, gazing out over the bows to the 
horizon ahead, busy with his own thoughts. 

Yet for all his aloofness, Lieutenant Gordon was an 
affable chap. And he was keenly interested in all things 
Russian — showed a most laudable ambition to learn all 
he possibly could about the country in which he was to 
serve. There was a captain at Gordon’s table who had a 
cabin full of books about Russia, and Gordon listened most 
attentively to the informal lectures by the well-read cap- 
tain. 

And there was a major who had been military attache 
in Petrograd. He spoke Russian well, and gave lessons 
in the language to the other officers. Gordon attended 
some of the lessons, but his progress in learning the lan- 
guage was distressingly slow. Still, Gordon did ex- 
tremely well at times. One day the major had asked the 
class to repeat a Russian sentence. Gordon was the only 
one to repeat the words with anything approaching cor- 
rectness. 

“Splendid!” exclaimed the major enthusiastically. 

33 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ You are getting a good accent. That’s really excellent, 
Mr. Gordon. And somehow you resemble Russians — if 
it were not for your uniform, you might easily be taken 
for a Russian.” 

The class laughed. Gordon reddened. When he was 
asked to repeat another sentence in Russian, he rather 
bungled it. And that day he quit the Russian class, say- 
ing that he could learn faster alone with his grammar. 
And he kept more to himself after that. 

So no one thought it strange that Lieutenant Gordon 
preferred to stand by himself at the head of the upper 
deck as the transport was nosing into the harbor of 
Vladivostok. He scanned the islands sliding past, and 
he watched the boat which came out flying the white and 
blue flag of the Czar’s navy — the old Cross of St. Andrew. 
He watched the shattered hulks of the navy of the Second 
Nicholas, lying in on the beach like the bones of dead sea 
birds. And he saw the warships of Britain, of France, 
of Japan, of the United States, all spick and span at 
anchor below the city. 

Many strange flags flew from the tops of buildings on 
the terraced streets over the bay. The green spires of 
churches glistened in the afternoon sun. Soon the gashes 
running down to the water were seen to be streets with 
people moving in them — carriages, motor cars, and 
hurrying throngs of civilians and soldiers. 

On the hills above the city was a queer fringe of flat 
white piles, some of them sheeted with canvas. These 
were vast stores of things gathered to the port from all 
the world for the war against Germany — acres of goods 
and metals, all idle and wasting because the throne of the 
Romanoffs had toppled and the Czar himself was dead in a 
well. 

The transport moved up to a dock at the end of the 
bay, past the city. Gordon stood in his nook, watching 

34 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 


Vladivostok pass in review before him, and listening to the 
comments of the other officers who crowded the upper deck 
for their first sight of this far port of a shattered 
dynasty. 

As the troopship warped in, Russians in belted blouses 
and great boots stood on the dock and stared up at the 
ship and its soldiers in khaki from a distant land. These 
Russians loafed and gossiped and ate sunflower seeds. 
Cossack soldiers in high woolly caps swaggered about with 
sabers jingling at their sides. German prisoners of war 
labored with heavy cases. These men were still clad in the 
dirty finery of gaudy uniforms, sorry-looking specimens of 
what had been once smart soldiers. Shaggy horses in 
rude wagons, driven by peasant girls with shawls over 
their heads and wearing men’s heavy boots, did the work 
of strong men with sacks and bales, loading the carts. 
The Russians could find nothing else to do but gossip. 

Gordon watched the people on the dock with interest. 
When the hawsers were fast to the pier, he left the deck 
and went to his cabin. There, alone, he loaded his auto- 
matic pistol. He filled extra magazines with the blunt- 
nosed bullets, and distributed the magazines through his 
pockets in such way that they would not be noticeable 
through the fabric of his garments. 

He looked at himself in the mirror on the bulkhead. 
His face had increased its grimness, and the blue of his 
eyes had taken on a steely sheen. He seemed to be angry 
about something. But he forced a smile at himself — a 
tight-lipped smile of satisfaction. 

“ Speed is good for nothing but catching fleas,” he 
whispered to his image in the glass. 

Soon an orderly came to tell him that an automobile 
waited on the dock to take all officers who had to report 
direct to Headquarters to the building in the city where 
the Commanding General and his staff* were housed. Gor- 

35 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


don followed the orderly, and stepping from the end of 
the gangplank, saluted the land. 

The car bumped away up the street with a group of 
officers. Gordon was silent, while the others chattered. 
The water-front streets were muddy and unpaved. 
Squalid buildings with crude signs in Russian announced 
that within many of the buildings might be had tea and 
food and liquors. Pigs were loose in the streets, scratch- 
ing themselves amiably on house-corners. Old Russian 
songs were being bawled from lusty throats of roisterers 
inside the kabaks. Russians wandered about aimlessly, 
staring at all the strange things which had come to 
Siberia — the American army mules, the motor cycles 
whizzing about among the pigs and wagons, and the honk- 
ing car with the party of American officers. 

Everybody seemed on holiday but the Chinese. They 
trotted about with burdens on their backs, working like 
ants, apparently unaware that freedom had come to 
Russia and that no one need work. Military motors were 
shooting about in all directions, dilapidated trolley cars 
packed with humanity creaked over bad rails, droshkies 
careened crazily among the burden-bearing Chinese coolies. 

The car carrying Gordon rolled into the Svetlanskaya, 
the main street of Vladivostok, and began to climb one of 
the many hills. There was a great stream of confused 
traffic, and mixed in it were strange men in uniforms — 
black Annamites in French blue, yellow Japanese in buff, 
bronzed Czechs in brown, Cossacks in natural gray; Ca- 
nadians in brown short coats, and Americans in snuff- 
colored khaki. On them all were the musty odors and the 
ancient dust of Asia. 

The city was a place of swarming tangles of people — 
beggars and princes, vagabonds and viceroys, generals 
and stragglers, friends and enemies, conquerors and con- 
quered, all whirling about in mad antics and hurrying as 

36 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 


if they expected the end of the world to come with sun- 
down. Refugees from the interior carrying their few 
poor possessions in old blankets mingled with nobles of 
the old regime who still tried to keep up a semblance of 
importance; poor women in rags with frightened red eyes 
and crying children clustered about them stood on the 
curbs and stared at foreign-looking ladies lolling in car- 
riages and clad in suspicious grandeur. The human para- 
sites had gathered from all the ports of the Orient to this 
land where people were starving in the streets. Adven- 
turers seeking command and harpies hoping to get their 
fingers into stolen jewels, pushed aside blind beggars to get 
into the cafes. 

The crisp cold air of winter was seething with joy. 
There were flags everywhere. The restaurants were 
crowded with people who lacked lodgings, gabbling, whis- 
pering, gaming. But there was something sinister lurking 
in the background of the mad show, glimpsed now and then 
in a squad of soldiers with bayonets fixed to their rifles 
and marching from some mysterious place to some other 
mysterious place with an attitude of deadly earnestness. 
The temper of the people was fickle. They were ready to 
rally to any leader who presented some dramatic ideal, or 
to submit to any ruler who was strong enough to subdue 
them by force of arms. But just now they were occupied 
with having a grand celebration and believed that life from 
now on would be nothing but a carnival. 

The car carrying Gordon and the other officers arrived 
at the big building overlooking the bay where flew the flag 
of the United States — American Staff Headquarters. 
Gordon found the Chief of Intelligence in a large room 
filled with map-makers, translators, clerks, officers, busy 
orderlies. But Gordon did not approach the desk of his 
chief at once. The grave-faced colonel with spectacles 
was busy just then, and Gordon lingered among the office 

37 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


workers. There was a great buzzing of conversation and 
a mighty clacking of typewriters. 

Gordon was keenly interested in everything. The walls 
were covered with maps of the Russian empire stuck full 
of tacks with colored heads — the fever spots of a sick 
nation, showing where the disease was most rampant and 
dangerous. And Gordon listened to the talk of the 
Russians, who discussed the Americans frankly, knowing 
that they were not understood by the strangers. 

In time Gordon presented himself at the colonel’s desk, 
saluted, gave his name, and turned over certain papers. 
The colonel looked him over casually, not especially inter- 
ested that another Intelligence officer had been added to 
his staff by Washington. 

“ You’ll want to look about the city, Mr. Gordon, after 
your month in a transport. You’ll be quartered in this 
building. Report to me again in the morning,” said the 
colonel. 

So Lieutenant Gordon spent the afternoon in the teem- 
ing cafes along the Svetlanskaya. He mingled with the 
various factions scattered through the city — monarch- 
ists, anarchists, nihilists out of a job, German secret 
agents, and the adherents of new men and new parties 
intriguing for power with the next throw of the national 
dice. It was all a great orgy of talking and whispering 
and singing. Gordon could make neither head nor tail of 
it. But he watched the throngs closely. Every man got 
a scrutiny from the American lieutenant. An observer 
might think that Gordon was looking for some particular 
person in all that motley throng. 

At the officers’ mess that evening Gordon overheard a 
conversation in which the necessity of sending an Intelli- 
gence officer to Irkutsk was discussed. And Gordon was 
on the alert at once. He said nothing, but he watched 
the Chief of Intelligence up at the head of the table and 

38 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 


followed him from the mess-room to his desk upstairs. 

66 Sir,” began Gordon, “ I understand that an officer will 
be sent up toward Lake Baikal — Irkutsk — to look into 
the situation there.” 

The colonel looked at Gordon wonderingly. It struck 
the chief that this new arrival was dipping into things 
rather hastily. There was enough to learn around Vladi- 
vostok for a stranger, thought the colonel. 

“ Yes, it has been mentioned,” said the colonel. 66 We 
need an observing officer up there. That country is con- 
trolled now by Zorogoff, the Ataman of the Cossacks, and 
we don’t know any too much about Zorogoff. What do 
you know about him ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir. But I would like to — see the coun- 
try.” 

“ You ought to have a little more time to get acquainted 
with the situation here before you go into the interior. 
The Baikal region is a long way from here.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Gordon. “ I don’t want to appear too 
confident of my own abilities, but it strikes me, sir, that 
the back country explains what is going on here, rather 
than what you see here explains the country.” 

The colonel smiled. “ You like to travel, young man.” 

<fi Yes, sir. Frankly, I’d like to see all I can.” 

“ Have you been assigned to any duty here yet? ” 

“ No, sir. Perhaps when I got back from the Baikal 
region I’d be more valuable — have a better understand- 
ing of the situation as a whole.” 

66 I’ll think it over,” said the colonel, and reached for 
his ringing telephone. 

And the colonel evidently did think it over, for within 
an hour Lieutenant Gordon was handed his orders to leave 
at once for Irkutsk in a train carrying Czech soldiers and 
supplies toward Omsk and that place known so vaguely as 
“ the front.” And an American soldier w r ho was a native 

39 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


of Russia was detailed to accompany Lieutenant Gordon 
as an orderly and interpreter. 

Gordon did not delay. He went at once to the Trans- 
Siberian station to find his train, leaving the Russian or- 
derly to bring on baggage and bedding-roll. Gordon 
found the station filled to overflowing with refugees frbm 
the interior — sick and well, women and children, lame 
and blind, hungry and unclean. They lay on the floors, 
cooking and eating, begging and filching food wherever 
they could find it. They were like a dirty froth thrown 
up on a beach after a tidal wave, a pitiful human wreck- 
age fighting for existence after having survived a typhoon 
which had destroyed a nation. The sights, the smells, the 
misery were appalling. It almost made Gordon ill. He 
longed to find some one person who could be blamed for it. 
A wrath began to grow in his soul. 

He stumbled down the railroad yards in the growing 
dark, seeking the train among a labyrinth of box cars. 
Though he was already in his furs and his sheepskin-lined 
coat against the wolf of winter which was howling across 
the landscape, the wind from the bay chilled him to his 
bones. 

Candles gleaming through the windows of an old fourth- 
class car drew him. He found soldiers within — Czechs 
cooking their supper of stew over crude heating stoves 
amid clouds of yellow sulphurous smoke from the awful 
Manchurian coal. 

The interior of the car was so jammed with men that 
there seemed to be no more room. The shelves were full of 
soldiers, and the floor was littered with coal and wood 
and boxes and bundles. It was like a pen on wheels, that 
car. It was filthy, battered, and broken. But it be- 
longed to the train leaving for the front, and Gordon was 
content. 

Presently the orderly came, laden with baggage. He 

40 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 


explained to the Czechs that the American officer was to 
travel in that car by order of the Czech c'ommandant. 
The soldiers smiled and provided two shelves. And in a 
few minutes the train began to grind slowly away from 
Vladivostok, to carry Lieutenant Gordon and his orderly 
some two thousand versts away. 

They reached Nikolsk-Ussurisk the next morning. An 
American captain came to the train. His orderly had 
been sent back to Vladivostok, ill. The captain was with- 
out an interpreter. 

“ Look here,” said Gordon. “ You can’t go on here 
without an interpreter — and I’ll not need mine till I get 
to Irkutsk. You’ll have a new interpreter sent up to 
you by that time. I’m all right on this train — for a 
week or two. Send mine along to me when I telegraph 
where I am.” 

“ Well, that’s an idea ! ” said the captain. “ A most 
pious idea! Perhaps I can send your man along after 
you in a couple of days. He can catch this train all right, 
on a passenger train.” 

“ Hold my man, sir, till you hear from me,” said Gor- 
don. “ I’ll wire when I need him. There is a Czech in 
this car who speaks fairly good English. I’ll get on all 
right.” 

“ Now that’s mighty decent of you,” said the captain. 
“ What’s your name — so there won’t be any hitch about 
sending your man on ? ” 

“ Gordon, sir — Peter Gordon.” And the train rum- 
bled on, leaving behind the native of Russia who h-ad been 
detailed as interpreter for Lieutenant Peter Gordon. 

The railroad followed old caravan trails into Man- 
churia and Mongolia, over plains and up through moun- 
tains in w r hich yellow bonzes hid themselves from the world 
on sky-kissing peaks in secret monasteries. Then, wind- 
ing down through the passes, the train traversed the millet 

41 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


plains where the conquerors of ancient Tartary and 
China recruited their hordes of warriors — and on into 
the wilderness of Siberia where wolves still ruled. 

The land was now held in the grip of a desperate cold. 
The wheels whined as they ground along on frosty rails. 
Bridges lay in ruins across rivers, replaced by shaky 
structures of logs that swayed and groaned under the 
weight of the train. 

And at every station Peter found mobs of refugees fight- 
ing to get aboard anything that moved. Some were try- 
ing to get to Vladivostok, some wanted to go in the op- 
posite direction to Perm, or Ufa, or Samara. They 
wanted to get anywhere but where they were. Long 
strings of box cars in the sidings were packed with men, 
women, and children, ragged, filthy, hungry, dying, dead. 
Those alive threshed grain by hand from the rotting piles 
in the fields, or fished in the rivers with wooden spears. 
And there were trains coming back from the front filled 
with human derelicts — in cattle cars festooned with crim- 
son icicles ! 

Yet the people seemed patient in their misery. They 
waited patiently while first one faction rose to power only 
to fall again. And usurpers gambled for power with 
bands of brigands which their leaders called armies. The 
people had destroyed one government. Now they waited 
for some one to create another for them. 

Lieutenant Peter Gordon watched day by day in silence. 
At times, his eyes flamed with anger. But he smiled some- 
times, too, when he mixed with peasants in the station 
restaurants and ate cabbage soup with a wooden spoon. 
Por the peasants had many queer and amusing things to 
say about the Americansky after they had assured them- 
selves that the stranger could speak but a few words of 
Russian, and understood less. But Peter understood 
enough to know that these peasants were not at all 


THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 


friendly to officers, no matter what country they came 
from. They wanted no aristocrats in Siberia, American 
or otherwise. They were going to kill all the aristocrats, 
and be free men. They were not going to leave all the 
land to aristocrats, and pay taxes so that their rulers 
could make slaves of them. Not any more. 

One evening Peter strolled up toward the engine while 
the train was stopped in a station. 

“ When will we get to Chita? ” he asked the engineer. 

“ Perhaps to-morrow.” 

“ Are you sure we won’t go through Chita sometime 
to-night ? ” 

“ No, not to-night. Not till long after daylight.” 

“ Thank you,” said Peter, and walked away. The 
Russian engineer stared after the American officer in be- 
wildered surprise, for the American officer was speaking 
in perfect Russian. There was something queer about it, 
the engineer knew — but, of course, Americans are edu- 
cated and speak all languages. Still, that was the first 
one the engineer had ever heard who could speak the Czar’s 
Russian — as good as the conductor. 


Ill 


THE FIRING SQUAD 

A FTER Captain Shimilin’s demand for a million 
rubles for the Ataman Zorogoff, Katerin and 
her father knew that they were no longer safe. 
They had a fortune hidden in the old log house. It con- 
sisted of packets of Imperial rubles which had been 
smuggled from Kirsakoff’s bank before the looters had 
begun their raids in the city. The soldiers would come 
now and strip the house of all its contents to find the 
money. And if they did find the money, Michael and 
Katerin would be accused of opposing Zorogoff’s govern- 
ment and dealt with as many of the friends of the Kir- 
sakoffs had already been dealt with — a secret firing 
squad in a prison yard at dawn. 

As Michael had said, to surrender the fortune would 
not mean safety. Others had done that, only to be de- 
stroyed so that no embarrassing claims might be made 
against Zorogoff in the future. Zorogoff was but a bri- 
gand chief, maintaining an army at the expense of the 
wealthy people in his district and using the peasants and 
former workmen to build up his new autocracy — destroy 
the aristocrats with the workers and then enslave the 
workers who had done the business for him. Thus he 
played the poor against the rich and controlled both. 
And it was his purpose to leave none living who under- 
stood his aims. 

In Michael’s room there was a stove of tile built into 
the wall. It reached to the ceiling, and stuck out into the 
room like the half of a supporting pillar — a great black 

44 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


column faced with blackened zinc sheets of half-cylinders. 
At the bottom was a small iron door to admit the wood, 
with a circular damper through which the flames might be 
seen when there was fire in the stove. But the Kirsakoffs 
did not use this stove. They used their scant supply of 
fuel in the stove in Katerin’s room, not only to conserve 
their heat in the most comfortable room, but to reduce 
the amount of smoke visible from the chimneys outside 
during the day. 

The stove in Michael’s room had been selected as the 
hiding place for the Imperial notes which had been smug- 
gled from the bank weeks before. It was Katerin’s idea 
that the packets could be stacked against the tiles on the 
outside of the stove, and the sheets of zinc replaced. And 
unless a fire was maintained in the stove for a time long 
enough to heat the tiles to the danger point, the paper 
money would not be injured. If the Cossacks came to 
search for the money, she planned to light a smoldering 
fire in the stove. And by night, a couple of candles in 
behind some pieces of charred wood, would throw out light 
through the damper so that it would appear that the 
stove was burning. 

The packets of rubles were now concealed in a lot 
of discarded peasants’ clothing. The various garments 
had been distributed through the house, but Katerin had 
gathered them in her father’s room, and was ripping them 
open, while Michael was preparing the stove for the money 
by removing the zinc facing against the tiles. 

It was the evening of the day on which Shimilin had 
visited them. Katerin was ripping open old gray coats 
which smelled of stables and were covered with patches, 
breeches contrived out of cloth and the old skins of 
animals, uncouth jerkins which had originally been padded 
with cotton against the cold of many long-gone Siberian 
winters. 


45 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


The windows were blanketed to 1 keep the candlelight 
from being seen in the street below, and father and daugh- 
ter talked in low t'ones as they worked, while Wassili and 
the old woman below in the kitchen kept a sharp watch 
against intruders. 

Michael stood on a bench and worked out the screws 
which held the zinc plates in place against the wall. It 
was now so cold in the room that his breath showed white 
in the light of the candles, for they had let the fire in his 
room die early, and the door to Katerin’s room was kept 
closed so that the heat might not escape from it. 

“ Be careful lest the metal sheets fall and make a clat- 
ter, warned Katerin as she stripped open an old coat, and 
released a shower of packets of rubles of large denomina- 
tion, from which the face of the dead Czar smiled up at her 
wistfully from the engraving. The rubles made a colorful 
pile at her feet — blues, crimsons, and yellows, some worth 
a hundred rubles, some worth a thousand. 

“Now!” said Michael, as he lifted off the top plate. 
“We are ready for the hiding — and my back is nearly 
broken, too. May Zorogoff break his neck if he ever 
finds where it is hidden ! ” 

Katerin got to her feet and looked up at the rude clay 
tiles and the stone blocks mortared in behind them. The 
fire did not touch the tiles — they merely retained the 
heat and radiated it slowly into the room. And between 
the stone blocks and the tiles there was an air space, wider 
in some places than in others, so that the thickness of 
the packets of money would have to be gauged for the 
crevices they were to fill. 

Katerin began filling the spaces under the zinc plates 
above the stove door. Then the plate above was put into 
place, and the aperture behind it packed with money. 
They worked more than an hour before they had disposed 
of the bulk of the packets. They could hear the calling 

46 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


of the sentries in the streets. At times Michael and Ka- 
terin stopped and listened to the cracking of the frost in 
the timbers of the house, and once they put out the candles 
when they thought they heard the gate to the courtyard 
being opened cautiously. But the noise proved to be 
but a whim of the wind with the boards hanging loosely 
from the roof of the old wagon-shed. 

When all the zinc plates were back in place, Katerin 
took a piece of candle, and putting charred sticks of 
wood back into the stove, she so arranged the candle that 
when she lighted the wick and closed the iron door, a 
flickering light appeared through the holes in the 
door. 

“ We have a fire in the stove,” she said to her father. 
“Who is to look for paper rubles in a burning stove? 
When the soldiers come to search, you have a fire going 
in an instant.. And the wood can bum and not harm the 
rubles.” 

“ We could not do better,” said Michael. “ Your wits 
will save us yet. And that money is all that stands be- 
tween you and beggary — even I, alive, without the for- 
tune, could not save you from hunger and cold. There 
is your treasure ! It must be saved to you, my daughter, 
at all cost.” 

“ I care only for you, my father,” said Katerin. 
“ And now you are tired and worn — to bed, for we 
must keep our strength and have our sleep, even though 
disaster crouches in the future.” 

She kissed him, and went to her own room to get be- 
hind the blankets which curtained the window and to blow 
a tiny hole in the frost coating the pane. Outside, the 
night was brilliant, with a haloed moon throwing a silvery 
sheen over the glistening plains, with a tree here and there 
doubly black from its shadow on the powdery snow. Out 
in the end of the street the fire of the sentries was burn- 

47 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


ing redly. It threw into heavy relief the black forms 
squatting about the glowing coals. ^ 

“ Merciful God ! ” she whispered in prayer. “ Are we 
to be saved? Help must come to us, or we perish! ” 

She closed the blankets and went back to her father’s 
room. She made sure that he was properly covered, 
kissed him tenderly, and took away the candle, for she had 
known him to lie all night smoking cigarettes till the dawn 
by candle light. 

In her own room once more, she prayed before the icon, 
and prepared for bed. Worn out with the worry of the 
day and anxiety for what the new day might bring, she 
finally fell asleep. 

But the next day came and went without any word 
or sign from the Ataman that he was dissatisfied with the 
report of Captain Shimilin. Several days passed, and 
still there was nothing to indicate that Zorogoff would 
annoy them again. Michael began to have hopes that 
something would happen which might distract the atten- 
tion of the usurper from them. But every hour they 
lived in expectation of another visit from Captain Shimi- 
lin — and no news came that the American troops were 
moving up the railroad to give protection to the people. 

Michael seemed to grow weaker as time passed. He 
fretted under the restraint of what was practically im- 
prisonment. He worried constantly about the future for 
Katerin’s sake. He devised many a scheme by which 
they were to escape from the city, only to abandon each 
one when Wassili returned from buying food in the 
market and reported that ZorogofF’s soldiers were guard- 
ing every outlet from Chita. 

Among other plans, Michael had thought of getting 
a droshky or a sledge and attempting a dash through fog 
or darkness, down the line of the railroad to the Man- 
churian border. He thought it might be possible to get 

48 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


into some Manchurian city, or to board a train bound 
toward Vladivostok at some point along the railroad 
which was outside the zone controlled by Zorogoff. 

But while it might be possible to get through the cor- 
dons of Cossacks around the city, either by eluding them 
or bribing them, Michael knew that he might be betrayed 
before leaving the house at all. To carry out such a 
plan, it would be necessary to take a droshky driver into 
confidence, and though he might accept a large sum in 
payment, he might also betray Michael. For Zorogoff’s 
spies were everywhere. 

Then it was that Captain Shimilin returned to the 
house where the Kirsakoffs were concealed. His soldiers 
came pounding at the gate of the courtyard one day just 
before noon, and the Cossack captain once more faced 
Michael and Katerin in the room with the blue carpet, 
the silver samovar, and the battered candelabra. 

Shimilin was frankly arrogant now, and he looked at 
Katerin with an air of bold assurance that, no matter 
what she might say, it would be of no avail to her. His 
pair of Mongol soldiers came with him, their eyes hungrier 
than ever for the things in the room. Katerin involun- 
tarily pulled her sable coat closer about her when she saw 
the greedy gaze of the precious pair upon it. She had 
decided to be outwardly gracious as long as she could. 
But she was ready to stand out against the demands of 
the Ataman, as expressed by Shimilin, as long as she could, 
and then abide by the consequences. 

Shimilin entered without a word, threw off his coat, 
and lighted a cigarette. It was plain that his course of 
action was settled, and that he knew perfectly what he 
would do from first to last. And his air indicated that 
he would stand no trifling. 

Michael sat by the table. He had been playing at 
solitaire when Shimilin arrived, and the cards were still 

49 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


spread out on the board. Katerin had agreed with her 
father that she should handle the situation, for the old 
man might be trapped by Shimilin into saying something 
which would be used by the Cossack as an excuse for ar- 
resting the old general. Zorogoff had his own methods 
for giving a tinge of legitimacy to his unwarranted actions 
and justifying himself in the eyes of his soldiers. And 
Shimilin knew what Zorogoff demanded now. 

“ And what have you come for this time? ” asked Ka- 
terin, as Shimilin continued to sit silently and smoke his 
cigarette. 

“ The Ataman will take no more excuses,” said Shimi- 
lin. “ I talked with him about you and your father, but 
he would heed neither me nor your protests that you have 
no money for him.” t 

“ You mean that the Ataman expects us to provide a 
fortune for him? And that having taken all we possess, 
you come back wanting more money? ” demanded Katerin. 

“ That is what I have come for. I am sorry that I 
have to put you to the trouble, but ” 

“ Perhaps if I should talk to Zorogoff,” suggested 
Katerin. 

“ You can only talk to the Ataman with money,” said 
Shimilin. He spoke without belligerency, almost apolo- 
getically, yet there was no doubt that he was completely 
in earnest. 

“ My answer to that — I am dumb,” said Katerin. 
She sat down near her father, and folded her hands in an 
attitude of helpless resignation. 

“ You know of some of the things that have happened 
here since the Ataman began to rule,” replied Shimilin. 
“ I can tell you that the dumb have been made to speak 
for Zorogoff. This is a matter that you would do well 
to consider with great care.” 

Michael picked up one of the cards before him, and re- 

50 


THE FIRING SQUAD 

sumed his game, as if what was being said held no interest 
for him. 

Katerin leaned forward from the bench and looked into 
the black eyes of the Cossack. 

“ This is a matter that I have considered,” she said 
slowly. 44 I have given thought to it much longer than 
you suppose — and I have considered that you, who are 
a Cossack, might even kill Russians by order of a Mongol 
chief. I am wondering if you have thought of that, Cap- 
tain Shimilin, and ” 

Shimilin sprang to his feet, his face flushed and his 
eyes menacing. 

44 Take care what you say about the Ataman! ” 

Katerin smiled. 

46 Oh, yes,” she said. 44 1 also understand what you 
seek. It is to have it to say that we insult the Ataman. 
If calling him a Mongol is an insult, that is his affair — 
we only speak the truth, and if the truth be against him 
as he sees it and he resents it, we have nothing to do with 
that. I am not making little of him for his blood or his 
race. There have been many great men among his people, 
and he is of royal line. But it is to you, Captain Shimi- 
lin, that I am speaking. My father and I have always 
been friends of the Cossacks. Now you put a Mongol 
into power here. Do you expect him to give you what 
we Russians have always given you? The rank of free 
men? Even our Czar was Ataman of all the Cossacks. 
Have you not learned to rule in your own way? ” 

As Katerin went on, her confidence grew. She saw that 
there was shame as well as anger in Shimilin. 

44 We Cossacks held up the throne on the ends of our 
lances,” said Shimilin doggedly. 44 We have our own mas- 
ter now, and we ask no advice from you or your father.” 

44 Your own master? ” asked Katerin with gentle irony. 
44 If you are your own masters — why not a Cossack? ” 

51 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 This is our country, and we shall rule it as we wish.” 

44 As you wish now? And how long before the Mongol 
will be ready to dispense with Cossack lances and turn 
your country, as you call it now, over to those who are 
closer to him in blood? ” 

44 You forget,” raged Shimilin, 44 that the Ataman pro- 
tects you — and that you must give him help with money, 
as there is none in your family who can aid him with a 
sword ! ” 

44 Tribute or death ! ” cried Katerin. 44 Is that protec- 
tion? And if a Russian cannot pay, the Mongol gets 
a Cossack to kill us ! Do you think that if I could wear 
a sword I would take service under Zorogoff at those terms 
— and help to destroy my own race? ” 

44 Your father ruled here with the help of Cossacks,” 
retorted Shimilin. 44 We paid for the bread of majesty 
with our lives and our service — and killing Russians is 
no new business for us — eh, Michael Kirsakoff? How of 
that, old one? Did we not get well schooled in killing 
Russians in your time? ” 

44 True ! ” cried Michael, turning to look at Shimilin. 
44 But you were in the service of Russians. Think well 
of that. And those you killed broke the law, or had 
killed in their own turn, with their hand lifted against 
their fellow Russians or against the throne. The law is 
the law and justice is justice. Men are not all just, as 
we were not always just. But what law have we broken 
here in this house against your Ataman, that you should 
threaten us because we have no fortune? ” 

Shimilin gave no reply. 

44 Do you see no difference between the Czar and a 
Mongol princeling? ” asked Katerin. 

Shimilin turned to his soldiers. 44 Wait outside for 
me,” he commanded with a gesture of dismissal. 44 1 will 
call you when you are needed.” 

52 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


The two men with rifles went outside and closed the 
door behind them. 

Shimilin sat down again in an effort to compose him- 
self. “ I did not wish mj men to hear the Ataman in- 
sulted,” he began. 44 I have come here by order of Zoro- 
goff to take your money — all of it. It is only to be a 
loan and you will lose nothing in the end. This is my 
advice — give your money to me. I will promise you 
safety.” 

He was frankly conciliatory. It appeared that he 
wished to cover his chagrin over what Katerin and her 
father had said and to put himself in a better light with 
them by a tacit agreement with them that he had no stom- 
ach for the business. 

“And if we had money and we gave it,” said Katerin, 
44 how do we know that we would not be destroyed to hide 
the debt, as has happened to others ? ” 

44 Then it is that you do not trust ZorogofF,” said 
Shimilin. 

Katerin laughed lightly. 44 Those who have trusted 
him are dead. He has taken fortunes before — and then 
the firing squad. What need has he to destroy us? We 
should be safe because we are poor.” 

Shimilin glanced at the door. He leaned forward and 
whispered, 64 Then trust me. Turn over your money to 
me — and I promise safety. On my word as a Cossack ! 
Come!” 

Michael turned quickly and looked at Shimilin in sur- 
prise, but Katerin gave her father a glance of cau- 
tion. She suspected that Shimilin was trying to trap 
them. 

44 You must trust us, Captain Shimilin. We have no 
fortune for ZorogofF or any other man.” 

Shimilin scowled in disappointment, and seemed to have 
more to say, but evidently thought better of it. 

53 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 You will have a glass of tea with us,” said Michael. 
44 My house is poor, but no man goes from it with- 
out ” 

44 No ! ” shouted Shimilin. “ I will not have it from 
you. You do not trust me! ” and he stepped to the door 
and flung it open. The two soldiers came back into the 
room. 

44 Kirsakoff, you must go with these men,” said Shimilin. 

44 What ! ” cried Michael. 44 1 am to go ? Where am 
I to go?” 

44 Before the Ataman. It is his orders,” said Shimilin 
quietly, and folded his arms. 

44 Does this mean that my father has been arrested?” 
gasped Katerin, staring in horror at the Cossack. 

44 Call it what you like,” grunted Shimilin. 

44 But arrested for what? For being poor? You mean 
that my father is to be taken away by soldiers and no 
charge is made against him? ” pressed Katerin, now aware 
that disaster had come. 

44 Get ready to go, and say no more, Kirsakoff,” said 
Shimilin. 44 1 shall stay here with your daughter.” 

44 But I shall go with my father,” insisted Katerin, do- 
ing her best to conceal the agony which possessed her. 
She knew that if her father were taken she might never 
see him again. 44 Please! I shall go with my father! 
Surely, there can be nothing against my going.” 

44 Have no fear,” said Shimilin. 44 Zorogoff wishes to 
talk with your father, that is all. No harm will come to 
him. And I shall see that no harm comes to you here 
while we wait. It will be better for you, and easier for 
your father if you do not make any trouble about it. 
You will only have to submit in the end.” 

44 1 shall go,” said Michael, rising unsteadily to his 
feet. 44 1 have no wish to oppose the Ataman if he de- 
sires to talk with me. Come, my daughter — fetch me 

54 ? 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


my coat and my cap. The sooner this is over, the sooner 
we shall know what the Ataman expects of me.” 

Katerin hesitated, scanning the face of Shimilin as if 
hunting out some secret motive behind the taking of her 
father from her. Then with sudden resolution she went 
and brought her father’s cap and coat from his room, and 
put them on him with loving care. When she had pulled 
the fur cap down about the old general’s ears, she threw 
her arms about his neck and kissed him, her heart tom 
with anguish at the parting, but determined not to give 
way to her fears and doubts before him. 

44 God go with you and may you return to me soon,” 
she said. 44 And do not worry for me, my father.” She 
smiled at him. 

44 And God be with you, Katerin Stephanovna, the 
brave one,” said Michael. Then turning to Shimilin, he 
said, 44 1 am ready to obey your commands and I submit 
myself to your soldiers.” 

44 Take Michael Kirsakoff to the Ataman,” said Shimi- 
lin to his men, and they fell in on each side of Michael. 
Between the two, Michael marched across the room, doing 
his best to keep his weak old legs from betraying the 
unsteadiness of his age. At the door he crossed himself 
twice, and turning back, said to Katerin, 44 Hope is 
mightier than fear — remember that you are the daughter 
of a soldier and that we do not fear death, but only the 
loss of honor. Think not of me, but of yourself, and 
God’s blessing and mercy upon you.” 

He turned and was gone, leaving Katerin standing with 
folded arms staring at the open door through which he 
had passed. Her face was white, her lips drawn tightly 
together. She remained thus, listening to the footfalls of 
her father and of the soldiers going down the stairs. 
When she could hear them no more, Wassili came up and 
peered in at the door, his eyes full of terror, and by his 

55 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


look silently questioning the truth of the scene he had 
just witnessed below. 

“ See that the doors are properly closed, Wassili,” said 
Katerin, and the moujik went below again. She walked 
to a bench and sat down facing the stove, partly turned 
away from Shimilin who stood in the center of the room. 
She ignored his presence, but sat watching the flames 
dancing inside the stove behind the iron door, her hands 
gripped together in her lap. 

Shimilin walked to the window and smoothed away the 
frost to look into the courtyard and the street. Soon he 
turned from the window and looked at Katerin. 

“ You may as well tell me where the money may be 
found,” he said. “ There is nothing to be gained by keep- 
ing it — and much to lose. I gave you your chance, but 
you preferred to trust Zorogoff. You would not give it 
to me — Zorogoff will take it. Where is the money to be 
found? ” 

“ Where? 99 she asked, speaking as if in a dream, and 
not looking at him. “Where is the money to be found? 
That is a question.” 

“ I do not enjoy this business,” said Shimilin, cajolery 
in his voice. “ If you would trust me ” 

“ I trust only in God,” she said. “ We trusted the 
Cossacks and they have turned against us. We are in 
your hands.” 

Shimilin walked across the room, passing behind Ka- 
terin, and drew a glass of water from the samovar and 
poured into it some tea from the pot on the top of the 
samovar. He stood examining the things on the table, 
drinking the hot tea noisily. 

There came the sharp crack of a board being broken in 
the courtyard below. Katerin turned her head in an at- 
titude of listening, startled by the noise, and conscious 
that its meaning might hold some import of terrible sig- 

56 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


nificance. She had supposed that her father had gone 
from the house with the soldiers. She stood up to go to 
the window. 

Shimilin stepped quickly in her way. “ You are not to 
look out,” he said calmly. 46 All that you are to do is 
to tell me where the money may be found. Why do you 
make all this trouble about it? I tell you it is bad. You 
could be happy and gay if you would trust me.” 

“ Perhaps you will have another glass of tea,”- sug- 
gested Katerin. She returned to the bench and sat down 
to mask her worry over the noise she had heard in the 
court. 

44 Do you wish to see your father again? ” asked 
Shimilin. 

Katerin looked at him, unable to conceal the swift ter- 
ror which struck at her heart with the Cossack’s words. 
He returned her look with steady eyes. 

66 1 wish to see my father again, if it be God’s will,” 
she said. 

44 Zorogoff is God,” said Shimilin. 

She gave no reply. 

44 1 warn you — you must submit to Zorogoff’s will.” 

Still she gave no answer. The frost from the upper 
part of the window had melted away in the heat of the 
room, and the ridge of ice across the bottom of the panes 
was dripping water to the floor, like the ticking of a 
clock. 

Katerin turned to the fire again. Her face was drawn 
as if she were crying but her eyes were free from tears 
and she made no sound. 

There came the sound of dull thuds from the courtyard. 
Something was striking frozen ground with regular blows, 
and soon could be heard the sharp rasping of metal on 
stone. 

Katerin moved as if she would get up to look out of the 

57 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


window, but seeing Shimilin standing in front of her as 
if he intended to block the way, she sank back on the 
bench. Her terror grew as she began to understand the 
meaning of the sounds outside. 

“ What is that ? ” she whispered to Shimilin. “ Tell 
me! What is happening? ” 

“ Come and see for yourself,” said Shimilin, and moved 
aside so that she might pass to the window. 

She got up and started to cross so that she might look 
out. But she had not gone half the distance, when she 
stopped at hearing Wassili screaming below stairs. 

“ Mistress ! Mistress ! The soldiers are 99 

But Wassili’s cries were checked. There were sounds of 
a scuffle, followed by harsh warnings from soldiers that the 
moujik must be still. 

Katerin ran to the window. As she looked below, she 
gave a gurgling cry as if she had been struck in the 
mouth, and put her hands up to her face to shut out the 
sight of what she saw. For below in the courtyard her 
father was working with a shovel and throwing up broken, 
frozen, brown earth. A soldier was breaking the ground 
with a pick. And about the workers stood a large group 
of soldiers with their rifles, watching Kirsakoff dig a 
grave ! 

Katerin backed away from the window, sobbing, and 
threw herself upon a bench. 

“You submit to Zorogoff or you die — both of 
you ! 99 said Shimilin. “ There is yet time to save your 
father.” 

Katerin stood up and faced Shimilin. 

“ You have betrayed us ! ” she cried. “ There is no 
truth in you, you are not worthy of trust! Death is 
better than life where there is no honor, no truth, no 
faith in any man ! 99 She turned her back upon the Cos- 
sack, and held out her arms to the icon of the Virgin 

58 


THE FIRING SQUAD 


Mother. “ Mercy on the soul that goes to greet you — 
mercy, mercy, oh Mother of God ! ” 

A whistle broke shrilly on the cold air outside. Shimi- 
lin leaped at Katerin, and grasping her by the shoulders, 
swung her round and thrust her at the window. 

“ Look ! ” he commanded. 64 If you can be so stub- 
born! Look, and see if you still wish to disobey the 
orders of the Ataman ! ” 

Katerin saw her father standing with his back to the 
old wall of the court and six soldiers before him with 
their rifles upraised and aimed at the old general. 

She fell back against Shimilin, half fainting, but re- 
covering herself, staggered away from the window and 
fell upon her knees, her head bent toward the icon, moan- 
ing prayers. 

u Your father can be saved,” warned Shimilin. 
“Would you send him to execution? Tell me where the 
money is hidden — or when I lift my hand to the window, 
the soldiers will fire ! 99 

“ We are ready for death. I commend my soul and 
the soul of my father to God ! Better death than life 
under the cruelty of a Mongol and the treachery of our 
Cossacks ! 99 

“ You will not trust me,” said Shimilin. “ I could 
save you both. Fools! I am ready to risk my own life 
to save you, yet you will not believe ! 99 He raised his 
hand to the window. 


THE PLACE OF THE VOW 


A NEW conductor boarded the train in the 
night. He was a big fellow, with a body round 
as a bear’s and covered with many coats. He 
wore a big sheepskin cap, and carried a smoking lantern 
which was made of tin and was square, with a red circular 
glass in one side, a blue one in the other, and white ones 
on opposite sides. He held the lantern aloft and studied 
the sleepers on the shelves, making rainbows in the dim 
light of the car as he turned his prismatic lantern. 

Snicking the ice from his whiskers, he waited till the 
train moved out again, when he promptly lay down in the 
passage between the sleeping-shelves and began snoring 
into the red light of the lantern on the floor beside him. 

Lieutenant Peter Gordon, who- was on a lower shelf, 
was awake with the first glimmer of gray light through the 
frosted windows. And as he looked out upon the floor 
of the car, he was startled by the sanguinary face of the 
new conductor in the red glow of the lantern as it rattled 
with the jolting of the car. Peter studied the queer figure 
prone on the floor, and observed the booted feet stretched 
out toward the cold stove in the corner. 

Before long the conductor sat up, rubbed his eyes and 
yawned a chasm of a yawn. He dug into his clothing 
with a burrowing motion of his arm and brought forth 
through many strata of coats a watch fit for a giant. He 
put it to his ear, tilting his great cap to one side, and lis- 
tened to the ticking. Then he squinted at it in the red 
light, and having assured himself that the new day had 
arrived on time, he buried the watch somewhere in Pliocene 

60 /r 


THE PLACE OF THE VOW 


recesses and hove himself to his feet and attempted to look 
out of the window. * 

There was a remnant of candle stuck to the dirty win- 
dow-sill by its own frozen cataract of tallow. The con- 
ductor fumbled for a match, struck it, and lighted the 
candle. The heat from its flame began to melt a widen- 
ing oval in the frost. The jumping flame revealed more 
of the interior of the car — rifles hanging to the walls 
and rattling against the boarding with every lurch of the 
train, shoes hung on nails, garments swinging from the 
upper shelves, bare feet sticking out from blankets, out- 
landish bundles tied with bits of rope and twisted cloths, 
cartridge belts toothed with the brass tops of cartridges. 
And above the complaints of the laboring train could be 
heard the snores and sleep-mutterings of the Czech soldiers 
— men of an improvised army which had fought its way 
across Siberia and was now on the back trail to fight 
again that their comrades might be saved from annihila- 
tion by treacherous enemies. 

The conductor studied the frozen wilderness through 
the window. Having satisfied himself with the landscape, 
he stared at the cold stove. He took the big ax which 
braced the door of the car shut and attacked a chunk of 
wood on the floor with crashing blows. With the splinters 
split off* he started a fire and dumped in slabs of Manchur- 
ian coal, which crackled like a line of musketry and threw 
out into the car ribbons of yellow stifling smoke. 

All the sleepers began to cough as the smoke penetrated 
the car. Soon there was a chattering and a rattling of 
mess gear, and some one at the other end of the car 
started the other stove — and a counter smoke-screen 
against the conductor’s. Another day had begun in the 
filthy rabbit-hutch of a car. And the gallant Czechs, 
content to endure their Valley Forge of Siberia, chanted 
the songs of their homeland. 

61 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Peter threw off his blankets and sat up. The con- 
ductor smiled at him and reached Peter’s boots up to him 
from the floor. 

“ The fire will make it warm soon,” he said, not know- 
ing that Peter was an American officer and not supposed 
to understand or speak Russian. 

“How soon will we get to Chita, my friend?” asked 
Peter. 

“To Chita? Oh, soon.” 

“ And how soon? ” 

“ Perhaps half an hour. But you are going to Omsk? ” 

“ Only to Irkutsk,” said Peter. He broke the ice in his 
canvas bucket and washed his face, while the conductor 
looked on awe-struck at any person who could be so mad 
as to wash in ice water. He scanned Peter’s tunic, which 
hung from the shelf. 

“ Are you Czech ? ” he asked finally. 

“No, I am an American — an officer.” 

The conductor opened his mouth wide and crossed him- 
self with both hands 

“ But you speak Russian,” he said. “ It is not right 
that you should speak Russian like a Russian and be an 
American ! ” 

“ I am really Russian,” said Peter. “ But it is that I 
have been in America a long time. I came from Peters- 
burg, and now I have come back to help Russia to be 
free. Do you know Chita well?” 

“ I? Yes, a little. My wife’s cousin died there in the 
time of the pestilence. He was a fur-hunter, but he was 
a stingy. I am not sorry that he died. He ate much 
when he came to see us, and never had an extra kopeck 
for the children.” 

“ Who is the governor of Chita now? ” 

The conductor gave a snort of disgust. “ How could 
there be a governor in this time of freedom? That is the 

62 


THE PLACE OF THE VOW 


old way. But we are free men now, as good as anybody. 
Am I not as good as an officer? ” 

“ Better,” said Peter. “ But there was a governor in 
the old days. Every place had a governor for the Czar. 
You know that as well as I, my friend.” 

“True, I know it. But what does it matter now? 
This is not the old time.” 

“ There was a prison in Chita — or was there? ” 

“ True, there was a prison. A big one on a hill. You 
shall see it in time as we come to the city. But it is empty 
now, and the devil may live in it for all I care.” 

“ I have heard that there was a Colonel Governor in 
Chita with one eye. He lost the other in a fight with a 
tiger, but he killed the tiger.” 

“ Poosh ! 99 said the conductor. “ That is somebody’s 
vodka-story. I have been on the railroad from the time 
it began, and I never heard of any Colonel Governor who 
killed a tiger, or who had one eye. The last governor at 
Chita was named Kolessow, and he had a bad leg, not a 
bad eye. He ran away when the revolution came. Be- 
fore that was KirsakofF, and I can tell you Ivirsakoff had 
both his eyes. I never saw him — and a good thing, too, 
or ” 

66 There never was a governor here named KirsakofF,” 
said Peter. 

“ No ! ” cried the conductor. “ You have been in for- 
eign lands, but you know more than I about this, do you? 
I say that there was a governor — Michael Alexandro- 
vitch, and a general ! 99 

“ Perhaps I am wrong after all. Forgive me. But I 
had forgotten, because KirsakofF went to Odessa.” 

66 Perhaps he did. I don’t know,” said the conductor. 
“ Are you looking for him? 99 

“ Oh, no,” said Peter. “ I am looking for my brother. 
All I know is that my brother was in a place where a 

63 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Colonel Governor with one eye lived — the fellow who had 
a fight with a tiger. But it was not Kirsakoff, surely.” 

44 No,” said the conductor. 44 It could not be he. So 
you have lost your brother? It is always the same story. 
Since we got freedom everybody is lost. I have not had 
my pay for six months, and I have seven children living 
and my wife is sick. My children cannot eat freedom, 
but it is the capitalists who are keeping us poor. In the 
old days I had a cow. And now the Americans have come. 
It is said that they want to steal our railroad and take 
our work away from us.” 

44 That is a lie,” said Peter. 44 The Americans are your 
friends.” 

44 What kind of friend comes to steal your work? I 
don’t know anything about politics, but my children have 
nothing to eat but cabbage. I know that, and they know 
it. I think it was better with the Czar. These fellows 
who come and talk politics — they are smart men — and 
good men. They gave us a lot of rubles. But with free- 
dom it costs a hundred rubles for a loaf of bread, and I 
get no pay. And those fellows who talked politics ate 
my cow, and nobody wants the rubles they gave me. 
What kind of business is that? Not to take rubles after 
my cow has been eaten ! ” 

Peter shook his head, helpless for an answer, and fin- 
ished his dressing. He went out on the platform between 
cars. The cold air assailed him witheringly, for it was 
more than sixty degrees below zero that morning. He 
pulled the fur strap of his cap across his nose and leaned 
out from the car steps to scan the snow-streaked plain. 

In the distance were low hills covered with sparse 
fringes of pines and larches. At the base of the hills, 
huddled against them like a flock of sheep seeking shelter, 
were primitive huts of the aboriginal Buriats, and stray 
Mongol herdsmen in winter quarters. 

64 


THE PLACE OF THE VOW 


The train made a detour on teihporary trackage to get 
round the wreck of a bridge that had been blown up. The 
little river was frozen and peasants were cutting a hole 
in the ice to get water for a pair of scraggly little Si- 
berian ponies with coats of long frost-covered hair and 
icicles hanging from their nostrils. The men stopped to 
watch the train go past, and flailed their bodies with their 
arms to keep warmth in their blood. 

Once more the slowly moving train changed direction 
and drew near to low hills ahead, their crests serrated by 
timber and their sides slashed with snow which was held 
in the frozen water courses. As it rounded these hills 
and ran in through a low pass, a city of bizarre appear- 
ance was unmasked. It lay in a great cup between hills — 
in a wide valley, level as a plain. 

At first sight the city looked more like the smoldering 
ruin of a vast settlement that had recently been destroyed 
by fire. Rising from a sea of small huts was what ap- 
peared to be a forest of gigantic white fungi — columns 
of ivory smoking from the tops, or some poisonous growths 
like giant toadstools, or a land filled with tiny craters 
from which rose gray fumes that spread high in air into 
motionless clouds. These queer pillars were nothing but 
smoke rising from the buildings of the city and the warm 
air from chimneys rising straight up in the still, frigid 
air. 

Through the pillars of steam and smoke could be seen 
taller buildings, and here and there minaretlike spires 
lifted out of the ruck, and catching the morning sun, re- 
flected the light with tints of gold and bluish green. And 
there were great blue domes marking the synagogue, while 
a cross and a crescent glinted with gilt from the top of a 
Moslem mosque. The old exile settlement of Chita — 
the Valley of Despair — had grown to a city and filled 
the plain. 


65 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


On the slopes of the hill above, Peter saw a great yel- 
lowish stockade built of upright logs which enclosed low, 
rambling buildings. The sun flashed from tiny windows 
which were smaller than the gun ports of a frigate, or 
where the tiny windows were broken there were black holes 
like eye sockets in a skull. Many stubby chimneys built 
of stone gave the low buildings the appearance of cas- 
tellated walls. But no smoke issued from the chimneys. 

In contrast with the smoking city below, the place of 
the stockade seemed to be deserted. The scant snow all 
about it was unbroken by any path, showing that if there 
was a road leading to the stockade, it was not in use. 
The yellow color of the walls suggested an unhealthiness 
— a place shut away from the population of the city. 
The lines of the place were clearly etched upon the slope 
like the skeleton of some monstrous animal which had 
died upon the dreary and deserted hillside. And it was a 
dead thing — the wreck of the old prison of the Valley 
of Despair. 

The train puffed into the station. The platform was 
thronged with a surging mob of people making a mad 
clamor to get into the cars filled with soldiers. They 
pleaded to be allowed to ride to any place, but there was 
no room for them in the stifling train and the Czechs re- 
fused to allow the refugees aboard. So they gathered up 
their pitiful belongings and swarmed back into the station 
out of the cold to wait for other trains which might take 
them away. 

Peter gathered up his blanket-roll and his bag and 
slipped out of the car. He got a porter at the station, 
a big moujik in a dirty white apron, to take the things to 
a droshky in the square. 

Once free of the mob, and with the station between 
him and the train, Peter looked across the square. Some 
soldiers were drilling in the open place — - short chaps, of 

66 


THE PLACE OF THE VOW 


heavy build and awkward movements, learning to march 
and countermarch under the commands of Cossack of- 
ficers. 

There were many brick buildings of three and four 
stories. But between them were the low, squat log houses 
of old times, battered and unkempt, run-down pioneers 
now relegated to the position of poor relations and long 
neglected. 

Peasant women trotted round and round their crude 
carts, selling blocks of frozen soup and loaves of black 
bread to refugees from the station. The cold air was 
laden with sour odors. There was a great gabbling be- 
tween buyers and sellers. The women and men kept run- 
ning round in circles for warmth, their breath bearding 
them with steam from their nostrils. To the half-clad 
and hungry, merely keeping alive in such cold was an 
agony. 

A group of boys with tattered newspapers gathered 
about Peter, noting his furs and his brown field-boots 
with curious eyes. These bo} r s were wrapped with long 
woolen scarfs, and wore uncouth clothes and men’s boots 
long since thrown away by the original owners — boots 
lacking soles except for rags bound round the feet. If 
the lads stood still for but a minute, it was to shiver 
violently, so they kept jumping up and down like marion- 
ettes moved by a string. Peter’s eyes filled with tears at 
the sight of them, and he threw them a handful of paper 
rubles and kopecks that they might have hot cabbage 
soup. 

“ Poor little chaps ! ” he said, and, getting into a 
droshky, told the iswostchik to drive to the best hotel. 
The horses broke into a gallop at once, straight across the 
square, and it was then that Peter noticed an ancient 
building in the line of the street ahead. It was built of 
logs in the old stjde. 


67 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 Is that the old post-house? ” he shouted to the driver. 

44 Yes, that is it,” said the driver. 

44 Then stop ! In front of the post-house ! ” cried Peter, 
slapping the driver on the back with a lusty thump. 
44 Turn, please — and stop ! ” 

44 But it is a restaurant now,” said the driver. 
He seemed bewildered, but he swung his horses into the 
street before the old building and brought them up r 
abruptly, muttering in his whiskers. 

44 You said to go to a hotel, and this is a restaurant,” 
he complained. 44 How am I to know what you want, 
when you say two different things to me about where you 
want to go ? ” 

44 1 wish to stop here but a minute,” said Peter. He 
jumped out of the droshky, and, standing in the street, 
looked up and down its length, and turned to survey the 
old post-house. Sure enough, the sign over it said it was 
a restaurant, and through the tops of the partly clear 
windows he could see the gaudy colors of curtains hang- 
ing within. 

44 The Sofistkaya ! ” whispered Peter. 44 1 would never 
have- known it.” He studied the square, the big white sta- 
tion, and the buildings of the street. He walked through 
the loose sand to a spot directly in front of the door of 
the old post-house, but well out from it, and crossed him- 
self twice with both hands in the old way. 

He looked down at the sand and dirty snow. 

44 Blood of my father!” he whispered. 44 1 have come 
back to keep the vow ! I pray that I am not too late — 
that Kirsakoff still lives ! ” 

He stood there a few minutes, the tears streaming 
down his cheeks and freezing on the flesh. He uttered 
prayers, and then strode back to the droshky, entered it, 
and was once more rolling up the Sofistkaya. 


68 


THE ATAMAN’S DECISION 


W HEN Captain Shimilin raised his hand to the 
window, there was a sharp command in the 
courtyard below, followed by the crash of a 
volley from the rifles of the soldiers Katerin had seen 
standing before her father. 

Katerin, kneeling in front of the icon, fell forward upon 
the floor at the sound of the volley. Shimilin, still at the 
window, stood gazing across the room at her, a puzzled 
look upon his face, as if he did not know what to do 
next. He heard Wassili wailing in the kitchen below, 
and from the court came the sounds of metal being thrust 
into flinty soil and laughter and joking comments from 
soldiers. 

Katerin lay still for several minutes. Then she sat up, 
and stared at Shimilin as if she had just been awakened 
from a dream and was still in doubt about her surround- 
ings and why she should be there. 

6< It is finished,” said Shimilin. “ Your father is dead. 
I am sorry for you, but the Ataman must be obeyed. If 
you will give up the money now, I will protect you.” 

She did not answer him, but continued *to stare at him, 
attempting to grasp what had happened. 

“ You have killed my father!” she whispered, putting 
her hands up to her cheeks. “ You have killed my father ! 
And now you want me to pay you for it ! ” 

“ It is Zorogoff who has killed your father,” said 
Shimilin. “ I obey his orders — as you must.” 

He walked over to Katerin and held out his hand to 
fi9 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


help her to her feet. But she evaded him, and stood up. 

44 You are a murdering dog,” she said quietly, hatred 
and revulsion in her look as she shrank away from him. 
44 You lied to us — and you lie now! You are no better 
than the Mongol — worse than ZorogofF, for he would not 
kill his own kind for you ! ” 

44 Take care ! ” he warned, moving toward her threaten- 
ingly. 44 Take care ! My soldiers are still below.” 

She cried out with rage against him, and sprang at 
him and struck him in the face with her open hand. Then 
she threw up her arm and whirled away from him, to run 
behind the screen of her bed as if to get a weapon. But 
Shimilin grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back 
into the center of the room. She tore away from him. 

44 Kill me ! ” she cried. 44 There is nothing left in life 
for me now. Kill me, too ! ” 

“No, I will not kill you,” said Shimilin suavely. 44 We 
do not kill women like you too soon, Katerin Stepha- 
novna.” 

44 You are swine ! ” she raged. 44 You told us my father 
was to go to the Ataman. Talk to me no more, but kill 
me here ! ” 

Shimilin said nothing, but stood looking at her with 
every sign of being on the verge of complying with her 
command. But he did not put hand to pistol. Instead, 
he shrugged his shoulders and smiled, went to the bed 
behind the screen and pulled off a blanket. He threw it 
to her but she let it fall upon the floor. 

44 Take the blanket,” he said gruffly. 44 You may have 
death if you want it, but not by my hand. Take the 
blanket and come with me to the soldiers below.” 

Katerin kicked the blanket aside. 

44 1 do not fear the cold any more than I fear death,” 
she said quietly, and moved to the door. 44 Come ! I will 
show you how a Russian woman can die ! ” 

70 


THE ATAMAN’S DECISION 


Shimilin followed her down the stairs to the hall below. 
The old woman in the kitchen who did the cooking was 
crying in a room beyond the kitchen, out of sight. Ka- 
terin felt impelled to call a farewell to the old woman, and 
to Wassili, but she refrained because she suspected that 
the two servants might protest to the soldiers and draw 
ill treatment and probably death. 

So she passed down the hall and out through the 
double doors into the courtyard. The place was full of 
soldiers, and her eyes lit at once upon a pile of fresh, 
brown earth near the wagon-shed. That, she knew, was 
her father’s grave. She walked straight to the mound, 
and stopping beside it, turned and faced the soldiers. 

The heavily clad men stood about with their rifles, look- 
ing like great beetles, their heads topped with big caps, 
their faces wrapped in fur or rags, their bodies rotund 
with many garments, and the breath from their nostrils 
making what might have been inverted white horns as the 
air they breathed out turned to steam and spurted out 
from their faces behind the straps over their noses. They 
were not in ranks, these men, but gathered in groups as 
if waiting for some one to tell them what they should do 
next. 

Captain Shimilin followed Katerin halfway across the 
yard, where he stopped to speak to a tall soldier in a long 
coat. The pair talked together quietly, looking at Ka- 
terin. Shimilin carried a towel which he had snatched up 
as he had passed out of the hall. He whipped the towel 
against his coat while he talked with the other soldier, 
and it was plain that the Cossack was in bad humor. 

Katerin glanced at the spade and the old pickax which 
had been cast aside from the mound of earth. She lifted 
her eyes to the upper windows of the house. Then she 
threw open her sable coat, revealing the dull crimson of 
her velvet gown and the white of her throat. Gray and 

71 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


white and crimson, she made a striking picture against 
the dull background of the old buildings. The morning 
breeze which whipped in gustily over the courtyard wall 
and rattled the dead vines along its top, lifted wisps of 
her hair about her ears. The cold tortured her, but she 
gave no indication of her suffering. She looked like a 
beautiful flow r er which had grown in a drab garden now 
infested by wild things which had broken in for destruc- 
tion and hated all things beautiful. 

She let her hands fall to her sides. The cold was numb- 
ing her. 

“ I am ready ! ” she called to Captain Shimilin. 

The Cossack moved to her, and held out the towel. “ I 
shall cover your eyes so that you shall not see the rifles,” 
he said. 

“ Please do not touch me,” she begged. “ It is all I 
ask. Let them shoot ! ” 

The soldier who had been talking to Shimilin walked up 
to Katerin and peered into her face. His features were 
concealed by a strap of fur. Katerin knew by his manner 
that he must be an officer, though he wore no insignia. 
After a casual glance at him, she looked beyond him and 
fixed her gaze upon the house. * 

“ Do you understand that you can save your life if you 
w r ill follow the advice of Captain Shimilin?” asked the 
stranger. 

“ I do not seek the advice of Captain Shimilin — nor 
any other person,” said Katerin. 

“ You prefer to die? ” 

“ I have done with life.” 

“ You talk like a brave woman,” went on the stranger. 

“ Oh, be done ! I am cold ! ” said Katerin. She noted 
that a group of soldiers had fallen into line before her, 
and that the others about the yard gathered closer, re- 
garding her with curious e3^es. 

72 


THE ATAMAN’S DECISION 


The tall officer drew apart again with Shimilin, and they 
carried on a low conversation once more. The men in 
line began to examine their rifles to be in readiness. Both 
Shimilin and the other officer returned and stood before 
her again. 

“ Because your father, General Kirsakoff, was Governor 
here in the old days, is no reason why you should expect to 
oppose the new ruler,” said the officer. 

Katerin did not answer. 

The officer threw open his long coat, showing a uniform 
of gray tunic and blue breeches. He pulled the strap 
from his face and revealed the dark face of a Mongol. 
Sparse mustaches fell from the ends of his upper lip, 
clinging to his jowls as they drooped past the side of 
his mouth. His black eyes were set in close to a wide 
flat nose. Yet his face had a proud and serious mien — 
the face of an Asiatic of high degree, the face of a stoical 
and cruel man. 

“ I am the Ataman ZorogofF,” he said. “ I rule. 
Your father would not loan his fortune to my govern- 
ment. That is all I ask of you. I give you your choice 
— submit or die.” 

Katerin looked at him scornfully. 

“ I am nobody,” she said. “ I submit only to God and 
the saints of heaven. I do not recognize your right to 
rule, even though you take my life. Tell your brave 
soldiers to shoot.” 

ZorogofF laughed harshly. 

“ You have the spirit of the devil, mistress.” 

“ Speak of the devil and we see his tail,” retorted 
Katerin, using an old Russian proverb. 

“ You are a brave woman,” repeated ZorogofF. “ You 
have the blood of good ancestors — a fighting, ruling 
breed — as were mine.” 

u My ancestors have never feared death.” 

73 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Do you know that I am a prince in Mongolia ? ” 
asked ZorogofF tartly. He seemed nettled by Katerin’s 
way of looking at him, rather than by her scornful words. 

“ I do not doubt it, sir. And you belong there.” 

“ Ah! Is that true? Though your father is governor 
no longer, you still tell people where they belong. My 
people ruled this land before your people came, and once 
more we shall rule. But if you will give up your money 
to the government, in time you shall have it back. My 
soldiers need food and clothing. What is your answer, 
mistress ? ” 

A tremor of cold shook Katerin’s body. The air was 
stifling her, and she was chilled till she no longer felt 
pain. 

“ Death ! ” she answered through quivering lips. 

ZorogofF turned to Shimilin. 

“ The better the horse the worse his bite,” said the 
Ataman. “ But once he is broken, you have a good horse. 
I do not want to kill a woman so brave as this one.” 
Turning to Katerin, he went on, “ Your sons would know 
how to rule, mistress.” 

“ I leave no sons,” she said, now too chilled to care or 
perceive what the Ataman’s meaning might be. 

“ I was thinking of what your sons might be like,” 
went on ZorogofF. “ Do not be too sure about sons.” 

Katerin gave a cry of agony. She knew now what 
ZorogofF meant — and she feared now that she might not 
die after all. She looked at ZorogofF, as he stood before 
her, peering into her face. 

“ Kill me ! ” she cried, and then realizing that unless 
she angered him by insults, he might not give the order to 
the soldiers, she spoke with infinite loathing, loyid enough 
so that the soldiers might hear. “ You are a lowborn 
dog! Your mother was a scullion and your father a 
mover of dead bodies! You are neither Cossack nor 

74 


THE ATAMAN’S DECISION 


Mongol, but vermin from mud huts and a disgrace to both 
white and yellow ! ” 

“Ah!” said Zorogoff. “Now I know that there is 
fear in you, and fear for what, my lady! You prefer 
the rifles to a palace. What if I should give you the fate 
you dislike?” 

“ Go to the market place for your women, you swine ! ” 
cried Katerin. 

The Ataman stepped aside and beckoned Shimilin after 
him. “ Let us see how brave she is,” whispered Zorogoff, 
and he made a gesture to the men with the rifles. The 
muzzles lifted promptly and the men took aim at 
Katerin. 

“ I will show you who rules now,” called Zorogoff. 

“ And I will show you how a woman of the nobility 
can die, lowborn one ! ” 

“Fire!” commanded Zorogoff, throwing up an arm in 
a gesture of command. 

But the rifles did not speak, though they remained lev- 
eled at Katerin. She began a prayer, gazing steadily 
into the muzzles which faced her, and waiting for the im- 
pact of the bullets. 

Seconds passed. They became minutes. Katerin 
closed her eyes against the cold. After a wait she opened 
her eyes again and eight rifles still pointed straight at 
her. 

“ Shoot ! ” she pleaded. “ Please shoot ! ” 

She closed her eyes once more. The minutes passed, 
and Katerin’s body wavered, swayed, and she collapsed 
in a faint across the fresh mound of earth. 

“ Take her up and carry her into the house,” com- 
manded the Ataman. “ She is a brave woman — but 
stubborn. She shall submit.” 

The soldiers picked Katerin up and carried her through 
the hall to the kitchen. Wassili and the old serving 

75 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


woman began to scream, thinking that their mistress had 
been killed. 

Zorogoff and Shimilin walked out of the yard and into 
the street. Shimilin whistled on his fingers. Soon the 
troika of the Ataman swung out of a side street and the 
horses came galloping up. There were three men in the 
troika — two soldiers — and Michael. 

“ Where is my daughter? ” demanded the old general. 
“ What have you done with her? Does she still live? 99 

“You will find her inside the house,” said Shimilin. 
“ She is not dead.” 

“ God is good,” said Michael, at once careful of his 
words. 

“ Go back to your house,” said Zorogoff, “ and wait till 
I return.” 

“ So ? ” asked Michael. “ And why do you return ? ” 

“ You shall know then. There has been too much talk 
to-day.” 

Michael got out of the troika and the Ataman got in 
with Shimilin. Already the soldiers were marching out 
from the yard, and swinging back into the city. 

“ Take care that you do not leave the house,” warned 
Zorogoff, as Michael stood waiting for the soldiers to be 
clear of the gate. “ I do not wish to have you and your 
daughter run the danger of being fired upon by the sen- 
tries. I wish you both to live as long as God lets you.” 

Michael, afraid that there was still a trap and that the 
Ataman had no intention of leaving, though he had been 
covered by the robes in the troika and had swathed his 
face and head in furs, did not dare turn his back upon 
the precious pair in the vehicle. 

“ I thank you for your consideration,” said the old 
general. “ I thought I was to die, but I still live and my 
daughter is safe.” 

Zorogoff leaned out and spoke earnestly. “ If the cat 

76 


THE ATAMAN’S DECISION 


wants a fish, let her wet her feet,” he said. And then 
added with taunting irony, “ You are proud of your 
rank and your race, Michael Alexandrovitch — you and 
your daughter hold yourselves superior to a Mongol who 
is of the blood of rulers, and who rules. But I, too, have 
pride. You should know more of me and mine, and to 
that purpose you and your daughter shall live in my 
palace. I go to prepare for you, and you shall both 
live under my roof.” 

“What?” cried Michael. “That is a new string to 
the fiddle! Why should we live in your palace? ” 

“ So that I may take care of your health, Michael. 
And I shall need your advice in government.” 

“ My advice in your government ! You come with a 
firing squad to kill me and now you talk of taking me to 
your palace ! Surely, this is a day of madness, and I do 
not understand ! ” 

“ You will in time,” replied the Ataman. “ You have a 
lesson to learn. It is that you must not hold yourselves 
superior to Mongol princes. For your grandchildren, 
Michael, are to be Mongols, and you and your daughter 
shall hold them in your arms. You both shall love them 
— though they be of Mongol blood.” 

Zorogoff spoke to the driver and the horses galloped 
away, leaving Michael cursing under his breath. Then he 
ran into the yard as fast as his cold-stiffened legs could 
carry him, and entered the house, calling for Katerin. 

Wassili burst through the door of the kitchen into the 
hall, and cried out in terror at sight of the master whom 
he supposed to be dead. The moujilc fell to his knees, 
crossing himself and making the sign to ward off devils. 

“ Katerin ! Katerin ! ” shouted Michael, as he saw the 
form of his daughter stretched upon an old bench that 
had been turned into a couch. The old serving woman 
was giving her mistress restoratives and attempting to 

77 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


warm her — but she fled, screaming, as Michael entered. 

Katerin opened her eyes and shivered violently. She 
stared at her father, who stood over her, and then closed 
her eyes again and began to cry. She supposed that she 
was delirious and that her father was not really there. 

“ Have they tortured you ? ” cried Michael. “ Oh, 
Katerin Stephanovna, you are spared to me — and I live ! 
Look, my daughter ! ” 

He lifted her up from the bench and kissed her, crying 
to her again and again that he was not dead. 

“ Oh, God ! Thou art good ! ” she moaned, and then 
she was swept by sobs of joy and fell back upon the bench. 

Michael collapsed upon the floor, and when Wassili and 
the old woman overcame their fears and entered the 
kitchen again they found father and daughter crying 
quietly and clinging to each other consolingly. 


VI 


THE PRISON ON* THE HILL 

P ETER did not stop at the Hotel Dauria to see 
the room which a sleepy-eyed youth said might 
be had. There was a red-hot stove in the en- 
trance-hall, a dirty stairway leading to an upper floor, 
a pair of stuffed bears standing among pots of rubber 
plants, and a few old benches on which in better days the 
droshky-drivers, the fur-hunters and the gossips of the 
city gathered of nights. The front windows were boarded 
up and the place still bore signs of the work of looters — 
leather hinges on the double doors, wall-paper ripped off 
in great gashes which exposed the rough plaster, and 
here and there the mark of a bayonet point or the pock 
marks of wild bullets. 

Peter simply dumped his baggage in the entrance-hall- 
way and went out again to pay off the iswostchik. Where 
he went, Peter wanted no one watching, so he set out as 
if on a casual ramble through the almost deserted streets. 

He knew the way to the old prison. It would be up the 
Sofistkaya and over the little bridge which spanned the 
frozen stream running through the city. But it was not 
the same old wooden bridge which Peter expected to find. 
It proved to be a sturdy arch of concrete, level and wide. 

Some of the buildings near by had been half wrecked or 
burned. One big building was but a shell, a black ruin 
streaked with snow, with the windows out and the in- 
terior walls revealing old log pillars and a few crazy 
rafters. From a lower window there fluttered a bit of 
curtain, like a distress signal from an abandoned dere- 

79 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


lict. It was the old house of the governor — Kirsakoff. 

Peter lingered and studied this building. There were 
few people in the streets, and they paid no attention to 
him, for in his furs there was little about him to mark 
him as a foreign officer, or a soldier at all, for that mat- 
ter, because he wore his pistol under his outer coat in 
such way that he could reach it through a pocket. 

Water-carts hauled by ponies passed, bringing water 
from the city wells. They were shrouded in ice. A few 
peasants were on their way to the station bazaar with 
bundles of vegetables or partridges. Chinese trotted 
about with packs on their backs, smugglers in sugar and 
tea, or traders in luxuries brought in by hand over the 
railroad — such luxuries as candles, buttons, cigarettes, 
and salt. 

Peter went on till he could see above him on the hill 
the yellow walls of the old stockade. He mounted the 
slope, but headed as if to pass the prison far below, and 
walking as if he haji no other intention than to wander 
up the hill and look back upon the city. He stopped at 
times, and looked behind him. 

As he went up the slope he managed to draw in closer 
to the stockade. The old road had no tracks upon it, 
proof that the prison must be deserted. And, in fact, the 
city itself seemed to be deserted as he looked down into 
it from the upper land. Though smoke came from the 
chimneys, the people kept mostly indoors. There was 
an ominous hush in the air, as if the inhabitants were 
afraid to be seen. The forests gave off no sound of 
woodsmen or hunters. Away on the side of the plains 
toward Manchuria Peter could see groups of three and 
four horsemen on patrol. But the Valley of Despair 
seemed like a place in which a pestilence raged, so bare 
was it of living beings except around the station. 

“ The place is accursed ! 99 said Peter, as he stood and 

80 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


gazed out over the valley and the city. “ After America, 
I know now what this all means. And there is something 
which has brought me back. My father, can it be you? 
Can you know? Have you guided me so that justice may 
be done? I pray that Kirsakoff be still alive!” 

And Peter did know the meaning of it all. Chita was 
a ghastly city built from the weeping of women and the 
curses of men doomed to chains and living deaths in dark 
cells. The very soil reeked with the blood of exiles. 

And Peter Gordon, the American, was once more Peter 
Petrovitch Gorekin, the Russian. During the three weeks 
that he had been on the train from Vladivostok, he had 
become more Russian every day. He knew now that the 
Russians were not free, though the throne had been over- 
turned. There was still work to do. 

Peter went on, now straight for the entrance to the 
prison, where he found the heavy gate lying in the snow, 
torn from its iron hinges and covered with the dents of 
logs and rocks which had battered it down. 

He entered the prison yard. There were broken tables 
and piles of half burned records among charred logs. 
The sentry platforms had been dragged down from the 
inner wall and made a clutter of wrecked timbers. The 
little windows gaped open and the iron bar# across them 
had been bent outward. Fine, hard snow covered the 
wreckage like a powder, gathered here and there in the 
cracks of the stone walks and in the holes where the flat 
stones had been ripped out and overturned. 

The place was without life. Yet it seemed to throb 
with life. Peter half expected to find people inside the 
long galleries of the prison buildings, though he knew that 
there could be no living person in such a place of horrors. 

The door opening to the inner guardroom was also 
down, a thing of planks strapped together with iron bars. 
It lay askew across the stone threshold, and Peter walked 

81 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


over its side. It gave out a dull, hollow sound, which set 
the echoes going through the long inner galleries of the 
cell-wings. A vile odor assailed him as he stepped inside, 
and he shivered. 

He knew this place well. There were broken desks here, 
and gun-racks on the walls had been ripped from their 
supports. It was here that he had been taken the morn- 
ing after his father had been cut down by the Cossack 
before the post-house. And Peter saw again in his mind’s 
eye the commandant with the gold bars on his shoulders, 
he heard again the careless questions snapped at him. 
Then he saw himself, a terrified little boy, led down the 
long gallery and thrust into a dark cell. 

He pushed on now into the gallery with its battered 
cell doors lying half inside and half outside the cells, some 
swinging crazily on bent hinges, some partly burned and 
lying in bits of charred wood, others splintered and their 
fragments strewn along the stone-floored passage. 

His feet made dull echoes. There was a sound of 
frightened things scampering into dark holes before him. 
And to Peter it seemed that there were thousands of men 
in the place — men who peered out at him derisively and 
gave long hooting laughs at him. 

It was colder inside the prison than outside in the clean 
air — a dark, dank, penetrating cold combined with the 
sickly smell of an old cage in which frozen white shoots of 
growing vegetation killed and preserved by the cold glim- 
mered uncannily in the rank air. 

He found the cell that had been his — sixth on the 
right side. The big door was swung inward. The stone 
benches inside were black and polished with years of dirt 
and years of being sat upon. The stained log walls were 
covered with thousands of marks which recorded days and 
years spent in the cell by exiles. Among these rows of 
time-keeping scratches were also etched words of hate 

82 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


and messages of comfort and the scribbled jeers of men 
who had made a jest of going from such a place to the 
execution yard. 

One line on the wall caught Peter’s eye under the search- 
ing beam of his pocket flash light. “ God curse Kirsa- 
koff,” Peter read. The letter had been formed by his 
own boyish fingers with a nail — fingers stiff with cold. 
He laughed at the sight of it now, and slapped the pistol 
on his hip under his greatcoat. His laugh came back to 
him multiplied a hundred times from the cells of the long 
galleries stretching away in the darkness. The echoes 
sounded like a scornful chorus from ghosts. 

He sat down on the stone bench and looked at the dirty 
hole in the door through which food had been passed in 
to him — black bread and greasy soup made from the 
refuse of cabbages. He sat there several minutes, and 
threw his memory back to the days and nights which he 
had spent there buried alive, doubting at times that he ex- 
isted till food was brought and the rats gathered round 
him, squeaking for their share. 

Fear gripped him. He sprang up and ran, his boots 
making a clatter over the planks of the broken doors in 
the passage. He gained the prison yard and his whole 
body was laved in a sweat of agony. He got out into the 
open, and stopping an instant to scan the slopes below 
to see if he had been observed or followed, he turned away 
to the left to the fenced-in grove which was the old burial 
ground of the prison. 

It was in there that his father had been buried, but 
Peter did not know where. A few rotten boards lay upon 
the ground ; a few weather-beaten crosses scored and 
twisted out of shape, littered the ground. Peter stood 
with tears in his eyes and looked over the rough ground. 

“ Peter Petrovitch has come back, my father,” he said. 
And crossing himself, he said a prayer. Then he turned 

83 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


and descended the slopes toward the city, bearing off to 
the right and trying to make it appear to any watcher 
that he had been wandering about aimlessly. The 
thought struck him that he had been unwise in going to 
the prison. It might lead to gossip, especially when it 
became known in the city that he was an American. Why 
should an American officer go prowling about the old 
prison of a city which 

Peter checked his thoughts in that direction. It 
seemed strange that he should refer to himself as an 
American. America was now very far away, a dim vista 
in his memory, hard to realize, like an old dream faintly 
remembered. It seemed odd that America had receded so 
far into the background of his mind. For was he not a 
Russian? Yes, he knew that he was Russian to the core. 
His Americanism had never been anything but an outer 
shell, a readjustment to new conditions, a learning of new 
things, and a new life. But he had not changed — only 
the clothes upon his back. True, he thought, the clothes 
would serve a purpose. Who would ever suspect that an 
American officer had come to Chita to do what he hoped to 
do? Who would ever suspect that the American lieuten- 
ant, Peter Gordon, could be Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, the 
son of an unfortunate? 

He entered the city again, this time far to the right of 
where he had gone up the slope, and rambled along the 
Sofistkaya till he came to the old post-house again — the 
restaurant. He went in, and found a few soldiers sitting 
about tables talking and playing games. He took a 
table to himself and when the gypsy girl came for his 
order, he called for vodka. He was chilled by his walk 
on the hill and his spirits were depressed by the prison. 
The liquor warmed him. 

The restaurant was a dirty place. The old plank 
floors were spotted with mud where the ice-balls from the 

84 < 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


heels of patrons had melted, and the blackened log rafters 
were cobwebby and sooty. There was an ancient icon in 
the corner. The walls had been partly stripped of a 
moldy old paper so that the yellow plaster showed through 
the gashes. And here, as in the hotel, there were bullet 
craters. 

Peter finished his glass of vodka and went out again. 
He hurried back toward the hotel, but he had not gone 
far when he espied in between tw r o modern buildings and 
well back from the street, an old hut — an isba of the 
old days. He stopped in his tracks and stared at it. 
The building was not more than eight feet square, of 
single story, with a small window under the eaves. There 
was a rude chimney of stones at one end. A sign over 
the door told that cigarettes, matches, and holy cards 
were sold within. 

Peter went in between the two buildings and pushed 
open the low and sagging door of the hut. There was an 
old man sitting on a bench under the window with a news- 
paper — a thin old hulk of a graybeard with a face 
shrouded in white whiskers that were stained yellow about 
his hidden mouth. He wore a tiny black skullcap on his 
head which brought out the bleached whiteness of his 
whiskers and the pallor of his crinkled forehead. His 
hands were tucked in the sleeves of his ragged old coat, 
and he huddled up toward the smoldering fire in the 
ancient fire-pit. 

Startled by Peter’s entrance, the old man thrust the 
newspaper behind him quickly. As he got to his feet he 
kicked the paper out of sight behind a box. He stood 
looking at Peter with questioning eyes, knowing that there 
was something strange about the visitor but not being 
able to tell what in the vague light coming through the 
frosted window. 

“Do you sell cigarettes here?” asked Peter. 

85 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Yes, I sell cigarettes here,” croaked the graybeard. 
61 Is it that you have come for cigarettes to this poor 
place — you, who are dressed in odd clothes ? ” 

“ What else should I come for? ” asked Peter pleas- 
antly. “ Do you think I have come to rob you? ” 

The old one appeared relieved, but he was still on his 
guard. 

“We never know what a man comes for these days. 
And you are not a man of Chita, I can tell that.” 

“ What does it matter where I came from, if I pay 
for what I take? Come! Let me see some cigarettes!” 

The graybeard grunted and shuffled across the room to 
a shelf and took down some packets of tin covered with a 
faded paper. 

Peter looked the room over. It was hard to believe 
that this tiny hut was the place in which he had worked 
with his father. In his memory it had taken on vaster 
proportions, yet in reality it was but a boxlike hovel. 
There was the same old adz-hewn plank bench well pol- 
ished by years of use; the floor near the fire-pit had the 
very depressions worn into the wood by the legs of his 
father’s stitching-frame. And the same stone in the 
chimney on which his father had whetted the leather- 
knives ! By that fire-pit Peter had spent many nights 
studying out Russian letters and words in battered al- 
manacs. The place still smelled of leather — or Peter 
fancied it did. 

“ Here are cigarettes of the best quality from Harbin, 
gospodeen said the old man, proffering a long tin box. 
“ I keep them for such as are of the upper class. I must 
pay grease to Chinese for bringing these cigarettes in, and 
if you buy, you will be back for more — and twenty 
rubles for the box.” 

Peter sat down on the bench and pretended to ex- 
amine the packet of cigarettes. But he was really look- 

86 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


ing at the little battered samovar on the little wooden 
table. Beside the samovar was a blackened piece of tin 
which was used to transfer hot coals from the fire-pit to 
the samovar. And the rude shelves with their packages 
of “ Moscow biscuits,” matches, cigarettes, and holy 
cards for the holidays and the name days of children 
drew Peter’s eyes. The stock in trade was smoke-black- 
ened and fly-specked by countless summers and winters. 
And the room reeked with smoke, which made the old man’s 
eyes red and watery. 

Peter saw that the cigarettes were of the cheapest 
grade. 

“ Why do you double the price because I am a 
stranger?” asked Peter. “You know that half a ruble 
would buy these in the old days, and now with the money 
bad, ten is enough for them? ” 

“God protect us! You speak the Czar’s Russian, 
though you wear a foreign coat! Have you come here 
to buy from me, or to find who is smuggling? There is 
no duty now, true, but I have to pay grease, as I said. 
I would say the same to the Ataman himself.” 

“ But I know something about the price of cigarettes,” 
said Peter. He was willing enough to pay the price but 
he knew that reluctance would draw the old man out, and 
that an argument would probably develop an acquaintance 
which might be useful. 

“ But the troubles have come and that makes the price 
high,” whined the old man. “ Am I to starve among my 
cigarettes? There are few enough to buy these days, I 
tell you.” 

“ I will pay, but you are an old robber,” said Peter, 
going into his pockets and fetching out two ten-ruble 
notes of Imperial money. The old man’s eyes danced, 
for he knew Imperials to be worth twice again the new 
paper money on which his prices were based. 

87 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Did you come here for a ruganie? 99 demanded the 
old man, meaning a mutual slandering of each other in 
Russian in which both parties to the argument call names 
of an import so evil as to chill the marrows of respec- 
table listeners. “And you! You look like a gentleman. 
From what place have you come? ” 

“ From the place I go back to. Have } r ou been in 
Chita long, little grandfather?” 

“ I? 99 asked the old man, stroking his whiskers. “ Yes. 
What does it matter? I shall be here all time. See the 
hills outside? My bones shall build them higher,” and he 
broke out into a cackling laugh as if the joke were one 
that he used often and still liked its flavor. 

“You were here in the old days? ” pressed Peter. 

The old one gave Peter a keen look, and sat down on 
the end of the bench, hiding the precious ten-ruble notes 
away somewhere under his arms. 

“I? Why not?” 

“ You were here when the prison was full of unfortu- 
nates ? ” 

“ I was here when it was emptied, too,” and he laughed 
again and bent to poke the fire with an old cane. But 
he was getting cautious again, as if he suspected that 
there might be more behind the twenty rubles than he 
had bargained for. 

“What happened when the prison was emptied? It 
must have been a joyful time.” 

Graybeard made a noise in his throat which might 
have been a chuckle, and turning from the fire stood up 
and straightened his back, to gaze frankly at Peter as 
if to ask why so many questions were being asked. It 
was plain that he disapproved of giving gossip extra 
with what he sold. 

“ You should have been here if you wanted to know,” 
he said. 


88 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


“ I suppose they killed the soldiers,” went on Peter. 

“ No, the unfortunates did not kill the soldiers — ex- 
cept, perhaps, the bad soldiers who had been cruel. Were 
not the soldiers made free also by revolution? As well as 
the unfortunates?” 

“ True,” assented Peter. “ But the officers ? Many 
of the officers were killed, eh?” 

“ The square down there by the station,” and g ray- 
beard threw out his arm and his eyes took on a reminis- 
cent look, “ the square is full of dead folks — old and 
young, officers and all, rich and poor, high and low, 
witches and holy men. But the unfortunates did nob 
harm me. I am Rimsky and the friend of all, though 
many were drunk and did not know who were friends. 
But I got into a potato-cellar till the worst was over, 
though I was stiff in the legs a good month after. But 
I was out in time to see them all go off to Petersburg to 
kill the Little Father, the fools ! ” 

“Would you have the Czar back? Is that what you 
mean ? ” asked Peter. 

“ I? Why do you ask me that? Is it not enough to 
know that in the old days there was peace — and that I 
would have peace in which to die. Should not a man have 
peace in which to meet the dead? That is all I ask 
you.” 

“But are not the new times better than the old?” 
asked Peter. “ Would you have the old times back — 
and the prison on the hill full of people? ” 

Rimsky lighted the fragment of an old cigarette and 
smoked a minute before he replied, pulling at his whiskers. 

“ New times, new troubles,” he said with tired voice. 
“ We knew in the old times what to do to be happy, and 
likewise what not to do. It was all put down plain in 
the laws and the rules of the governors. Those who 
wanted better government did not know that bad gov- 

89 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


ernment is better than ndhe. Now it is all fighting, and 
no man trusts another. But I am not afraid, for my life 
is behind me. Now, when the railroad came here, it was 
said that everybody would be rich and happy. Before 
then we had only the mail-sledges, with their bells and 
horses. The people were happy enough, but for these 
educated fools always talking about what should be done 
with government and getting themselves and poor people 
into trouble. Now what do we have? All night an ac- 
cursed ringing of railroad bells and screeching whistles 
till a man wakes in his bed, thinking the devil is calling. 
And people and cows get killed by the railroad — and 
mad soldiers come to kill and burn honest people. Is 
that good? Who is made rich thereby, and who is made 
happy? ” 

44 Then you think you would be happier if the Czar 
were back,” suggested Peter. 

44 Is that what you have come to ask me? ” demanded 
Rimsky, giving Peter a shrewd look. 44 Is it that you 
are counting those who want the Czar back? 99 

44 No, no,” said Peter. 44 I have nothing to do with 
the government. I will not say to any one what you 
say.” 

44 I cannot be too sure of that,” said Rimsky, and blew 
the smoke from his cigarette upward. 44 But when the 
Czar ruled, I had a watch.” 

44 Do you want a Czar back? ” asked Peter. 

“ Tchuk! ” cried Rimsky. 46 The Czar is in a well, 
they tell me. But how do I know what to believe? First 
it is one lie, and then another, till our heads whirl and 
we get drunk to forget so much talk about nothing. How 
do I know but that the Czar is on his throne and eating 
fish-pie for his dinner? ” 

64 But suppose a new Czar should come to the throne? ” 

44 Ah, now you are trying to have me talk politics and 

90 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


get into prison. It does not matter. I want only a fire, 
my tea, a good soup with meat and bones in it, and a pair 
of boots — and men who can be trusted, even if they 
be Czar’s governors and cruel. Who is a man to appeal 
to now if he is robbed, as was I last month? In the old 
days robbers were hanged, and it taught them something, 
too.” 

“ But you are speaking of Chita, of course. You had 
no complaint here, for you had a good Governor.” 

Rimsky went to the samovar and took off the little 
teapot, shook it with a circular motion, filled it with hot 
water and poured a glass made from the bottom of a 
bottle full of tea for Peter. 

“ You talk too much for a stranger,” said Rimsky. 
“ What do you know about our Governor? Is this the 
first time you have been in Siberia, young man?” 

“ Of course,” said Peter, taking the tea. “ But I have 
heard about Chita before.” 

u You may know more than you want to know about 
it before you get out,” warned Rimsky. “ Are you going 
to stay long — and buy more of my cigarettes?” 

“ I’ll be here a few weeks, I suppose. I came to see if 
I could buy some furs.” 

“ Oh, but you are a soldier,” said Rimsky. i( And you 
will find no furs that are good. Everybody is hunting 
men these days,” and he broke out again in his cackling 
laugh, as he drew himself some tea in a little yellow bowl. 

“ Did the unfortunates kill the Governor who was here 
when they got out of the prison and freedom came to the 
people ? ” 

“Did they?” asked Rimsky. “You tell me.” 

“ But you were here, and you know. I was not here,” 
said Peter. 

Rimsky shrugged his shoulders and sucked his tea from 
the bowl. 


91 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 The provodmk on the train told me that the soldiers 
killed the Governor here. What was the name? 
Kir well, I can’t remember.” 

44 Those fellows on the trains do a lot of talking,” said 
Rimsky. 44 They are know-it-alls, and all they do is take 
grease from people who want to have food sent up to 
us.” 

44 I’m afraid they don’t tell the truth,” said Peter. 

44 So they told you the soldiers killed Kirsakoff, did 
they? But Kirsakoff was not the Governor. You see 
that they lied.” 

46 Perhaps they did not say he was Governor when he 
was killed. But they said he had been a Governor in the 
old days.” 

46 If Kirsakoff had been killed, I would know it,” said 
Rimsky. 

44 True,” agreed Peter. 44 1 thought the provodnik was 
talking to make wind and a big man of himself. I knew 
he was lying.” 

44 How did you know that? ” 

44 1 guessed it. Now that you say Kirsakoff was not 
killed, I know it was a lie. Just big talk.” 

44 Why should anybody kill Kirsakoff? ” demanded 
Rimsky. 

44 That is what I should like to know. Everybody said 
he was a good man, but perhaps some people did not like 
him — people in the prison, of course, who were against 
the government.” 

44 General Kirsakoff had been retired when the troubles 
came,” said Rimsky. 44 More than seven years ago he 
was retired. I remembered well the time — I had a sore 
foot.” 

44 Was he gone from Chita when the troubles came?” 

44 No, he was here,” said Rimsky, looking straight at 
Peter. 


92 


THE PRISON ON THE HILL 


“ Ah ! ” said Peter. 44 So the provodnik lied when he 
said Kirsakoff was dead. He is still here.” 

“ What does it matter where he is? ” asked Rimsky. 

44 It does not matter,” said Peter, and set the glass on 
the table, buttoning his coat about his neck in preparation 
for leaving. 

44 1 hear much gossip in this place,” said Rimsky. 
44 Where do you live in the city ? ” 

44 Thank you for the tea,” said Peter. 44 It is cold out- 
side. I may want some more cigarettes — at twenty 
rubles a box.” 

44 1 hear many matters spoken of here,” hinted Rimsky 
with confidential air. 44 About where governors are and 
such talk.” 

44 Is ZorogofF a good man?” asked Peter. 

44 It is a very cold day outside, true,” said Rimsky. 
44 But this is a good place to hear gossip.” 

44 1 care nothing for gossip. But I can see that you 
live on it, as an old gander lives on snails,” said Peter 
laughingly. 44 1 am going to the Dauria — I am an 
American officer. But see that you do not gossip about 
me, old fellow.” 

Rimsky wagged his old head and cackled wisely. 

44 A tight lip fools the devil,” warned Peter. 44 If you 
talk I’ll tell ZorogofF you charged me double for cigar- 
ettes. But I’ll come in and see you some day, and bring 
a bottle of vodka.” 

44 Then God guard you till you return ! ” cried Rimsky, 
and Peter went out through the door of the hut. 

Rimsky sat chuckling into his beard after Peter had 
departed. And more than once the old cigarette-seller 
told himself, 44 The sturgeon does not become a sterlet be- 
cause he leaves the river for the lake, and the Russian 
does not become a foreigner by changing his coat.” That 
was a saying of wise men. 


93 


VII 


OLD RIMSKY THINKS 

O LD Rimsky had a wise head. Many people 
were afraid of him and said that he talked with 
witches and had charms against evil — and he 
did sell charms against sickness, bad luck and poor 
crops. Besides, he had the reputation of knowing many 
things before they happened. But he was merely a wise 
old owl with the keen perception of human motives which 
is sometimes given to the unlettered man, though he 
could read well enough to get the meanings out of news- 
papers if there were not too many words in the articles 
invented by aristocrats to fool the poor people. 

He spent the remainder of the day thinking about the 
Russian in the American coat who paid double for cigar- 
ettes and took a profit in getting answers to questions. 
He had watched Peter closely, and turned the whole mat- 
ter over mentally, sitting by his fire and drinking tea. 

Rimsky decided that he had not been clever enough 
with the stranger. It was plain enough now that the 
stranger had come to learn something about Michael 
Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff who had been Governor. And 
the stranger did not know where Michael was to be found. 
In some way the business could be turned to profit and 
over many glasses of smoky tea Rimsky evolved a plan by 
which he could put money in his purse. 

There was an old pig-killing moujik named Ilya Andre- 
itch who slept in the basement of a bakery on a street 
up near the bazaar. Ilya had worked for Kirsakoff years 
before, and should know where the general lived if any- 

94 


OLD RIMSKY THINKS 


body did. As for that, Rimsky now remembered that 
Ilya had once boasted that he knew where Kirsakoff lived 
since the troubles came and all the rich people were in 
hiding. 

But there might be little in the boast, for Ilya was an 
old fool who was always pretending to know things. But 
for all his outward stupidity, Ilya was a sly rascal. His 
father had been sent into exile for taking money from 
revolutionists in Moscow by pretending to have knowledge 
of what the secret police were going to do — who was go- 
ing to be arrested, and so on. 

It happened that Rimsky had Ilya pretty much under 
the thumb, as the saying is. For Ilya had once fed the 
pigs of a watch-fixer in the city, and had stolen from his 
employer a whole handful of silver holy medals. Rimsky 
had bought them from Ilya for a tenth of their value. 
Out of appreciation for buying them, Ilya had spent all 
the money he got on vodka with Rimsky. The vodka had 
been stolen by a waiter in a restaurant owned by a Greek, 
and at half price sold it to Ilya, which was quite all right, 
for everybody stole from foreigners if they could. The 
thing for the foreigners to do is to stay at home and not 
go about selling food and drink at prices too high. 

Rimsky knew that he might be able to induce Ilya to tell 
where Kirsakoff was living. That might mean double 
money for Rimsky. Kirsakoff would no doubt pay well 
to know that an American was seeking him, and the Amer- 
ican would probably pay well to know where Kirsakoff 
might be found. It was only a matter of handling them 
properly. 

And by delaying the information sought by both Kirsa- 
koff and the man who called himself an American, a pretty 
penny might be realized. It was by such smart methods, 
Rimsky felt sure, that rich folks got rich. And by get- 
ting rich, they made poor folks poorer. Being rich w r as 

95 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


all simple enough, for there was only so much money in 
the world, and the trick was to get a lot of it by being 
smarter than other folks. There being many fools, the 
problem was easy enough. Rimsky knew that the Jews 
got rich by being able to figure interest on money, and by 
selling only when people wanted to buy and buying only 
when people wanted to sell. 

So he contrived a plan by which Ilya was to supply the 
information for little or nothing, and Rimsky was to sell 
it for a bundle of rubles. It would not do to tell Ilya 
what was wanted. It would be best to loosen his tongue 
with vodka, and then accuse him of having lied when he 
had said he knew where Kirsakoff was living. That 
method would get Ilya to boasting and he would pop it 
all out. It could all be passed off as drinking talk, and 
if Ilya insisted on keeping his secret, it would be easy 
enough to turn the talk to holy medals. That would 
make Ilya see the honey pot, as the saying is; then he 
would get Ilya so drunk that he would forget all that had 
been said. 

So when the lights began to appear in the shops across 
the Sofistkaya, Rimsky put up his own shutters over the 
window and wandered toward the bazaar to look in at the 
bakery where Ilya might be found. 

It was quite dark when Rimsky reached the courtyard 
in rear of the building of the bakery. There was a shaft 
of flickering light dancing out from a partly open door, 
and the yard was filled with the comforting odor of burn- 
ing dough. Rimsky planned to ask the bakers first for 
a man who once hauled wood for them — a peasant dead 
several months before. That would be excuse enough for 
coming, and talk could be made till it was time to ask 
casually for Ilya. That would throw sand in Ilya’s eyes 
as to why Rimsky appeared at the bakery. 

The old cigarette-seller prowled in through the door 

96 


OLD RIMSKY THINKS 


and stumbled over loose wood in the hall till he came to 
the great room where the bakers were working. A big 
man, bare to the waist, was drawing huge loaves from 
the stone stove with a wooden shovel. His damp skin 
shone in the dancing light. A group of men and women 
was sitting on benches in the dark side of the room about 
a samovar. A ball of dough was smoking on an iron 
sheet laid on the shoulder of the stove. 

There had been the murmur of voices till Rimsky stood 
framed in the doorway of the room, looking in. When he 
appeared there was a sudden hush and silence, except for 
the grating of the wooden shovel as it drew out the steam- 
ing loaves and the cracking of the fire in the fire-pit. 

64 God’s blessing on those who labor for us,” said Rim- 
sky, crossing himself. 

Some one gave a muttered reply. The man drawing 
the loaves turned and peered at Rimsky and then went on 
deftly pulling out the bread, puckering his face against 
the heat. 

A man came clumping down the hall and fell over the 
wood. Rimsky stood aside from the door, and the light 
from the fire revealed the man with a face shrouded by 
long and unkempt whiskers, and on his head a sheepskin 
cap black with dirt. He wore a ragged old coat with a 
rope turned round his middle several times as a belt. 

44 So this is my old friend, Ilya Andreitch ! ” exclaimed 
Rimsky. 44 It is long since I have seen you. Perhaps 
you can tell me of the friend I am looking for.” 

Ilya ogled him suspiciously. 

44 What has gone wrong that you should be here? ” 
he growled. He had a healthy fear of Rimsky and wanted 
to forget the business of the holy medals. 

44 Can you tell me where I can find Vanusha? ” 

44 You are chasing ghosts,” grumbled Ilya, crossing 
himself at mention of a dead man. 44 That man is dead. 

97 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Or is it that 3'ou are looking for souls for the devil?” 

“Dead!” exclaimed Rimsky. “Now that is a pity. 
I came to get a drinking friend, but now I shall have to 
go and have a glass of vodka by myself in his memory. 
He owed me two rubles but he was a good man, I can say 
that for him.” 

“ Better than I can say for you,” Ilya called out into 
the dark yard after Rimsky, who had retreated abruptly 
from the hall. “ He never drank his vodka alone, for 
one thing, like others I know, and they not far off. He 
was civil to his friends, I can say that — and when you 
are dead you had better take care that folks say the 
same of you.” 

“ Then you didn’t learn your manners from him,” 
retorted Rimsky, stopping in the court. “ You swing 
your tongue too much for an honest man — or to have 
it wet with vodka. When I drink I wish to be merry.” 

“ You are an old wolf with the fleas ! ” called Ilya. 

Rimsky laughed at him. 

“ May you die blind ! ” bawled Ilya. 

“ Oh, come and warm your belly with a sup of vodka,” 
said Rimsky, “ unless you think that if you turned good- 
natured you would come down with a distemper.” 

Ilya ran after him and the pair walked down to the 
little restaurant kept by a one-eared gypsy from Bes- 
sarabia where in the old days the thieves gathered to dis- 
pose of their loot to Chinese. 

There were but a few people inside the place. A 
Buriat, who had probably sold some cattle, was lying 
across a table in a drunken stupor, his purple conical 
cap on the floor under his feet. A crippled beggar was 
drinking soup from a bowl with a wooden ladle, and a 
Chinese peddler of charms was gambling in a corner with 
a Mongol holy man. 

Rimsky led the way to a table distant from the others 

98 


OLD RIMSKY THINKS 


and called for the serving girl. He was in good humor 
and ordered a whole bottle of vodka, swearing that he 
would take only the best and would break the tax seal 
with his own fingers. 

“ Something has turned your way, you old shark ! ” 
said Ilya. “ Or perhaps this is your name day.” 

“ No, it is that I am getting old and may as well 
spend my money before it falls into the hands of rob- 
bers,” said Rimsky. “ Soon I shall go to meet the dead. 
I pick up a few rubles a day. What is the use of keeping 
them these days? I want to spend them with my friends, 
and you are a good fellow and a great joker, Ilya An- 
dreitch.” 

“ True, I can make jokes if I have the wine,” said 
Ilya, and hastened to take a swig from the first glass 
poured. 

They proceeded to talk of nothings, and finished the 
bottle. 

“ Fetch another ! ” Rimsky called to the girl, “ and 
I’ll drink a health to the rings in your ears, my damsel. 
When you were — \$hat am I saying? — when I was 
younger you would not have escaped without a kiss.” 

“ You had better be putting your grandchildren to 
bed,” retorted the girl, but she brought the bottle. 

Ilya was suddenly filled with a desire to be modest in 
his drinking. He felt it would not be wise to abuse such 
a show of hospitality on the part of Rimsky. And the 
moujik's crafty brain suspected that there was a purpose 
behind Rimsky’s unlimited generosity. Folks were not 
so free-handed without having good cause, he reasoned. 
So for every full glass that Rimsky drank, Ilya managed 
to dispose of but half a glass. He had a notion that if 
he could get Rimsky drunk there might be part of a bottle 
left which could be made away with and the joyous oc- 
casion could be carried on alone into the night and per- 

99 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


haps the following day. Also, he took good care that 
Rimsky always paid in advance by making a joke with the 
gypsy girl that Rimsky had no more money. Rimsky’s 
generosity made Ilya suspicious. 

“ Pooh ! Money ! ” said Rimsky, when the third bottle 
was brought. “ I have enough money to buy all the 
vodka in the city.” 

“ That’s the vodka talking,” sneered Ilya. “ I feel as 
if I could buy a farm, but it would be another matter for 
me to find the money. That is the way with you.” 

“ Don’t go on so with big talk,” warned Rimsky, “ or 
I will begin to talk of the holy medals.” 

“ Talk and the devil take you ! ” cried Ilya, thumping 
the bottle down on the table angrily. “ If you do I’ll go 
my way and wish a curse on you ! ” 

“ Sit still 1 ” commanded Rimsky. “ I’ve money 
enough, I tell you. If not, I can go and borrow from my 
rich friends.” 

Ilya laughed so loudly at this that he disturbed the 
drunken Buriat, who lifted his black head from the table 
and glared about the room. He looked like a mandarin, 
with his long thin drooping mustaches. 

“ But I tell you I have rich friends,” insisted Rimsky. 
“ I could go now and get a hundred rubles if I needed 
them — yes, twenty and a hundred and no interest. Kir- 
sakoff would let me have them, and no questions asked, and 
nothing about when they should be paid back.” 

“What!” exclaimed Ilya, staring at Rimsky. “You 
say the old Governor would lend you twenty and a hun- 
dred rubles ! Tfu! That’s crazy talk ! ” 

“Yes! You think I don’t know the old Governor, eh! 
Well, Kirsakoff is a friend of mine, you had better know 
that.” 

“Pooh!” snorted Ilya. “You are an old mud-head! 
You don’t even know where the old Governor lives in the 
100 


OLD RIMSKY THINKS 


city, and you sit there telling to me that he is your friend ! 
Oh, ho, ho ! ” 

fi< Perhaps you think you are the only one who knows 
where Kirsakoff lives? You are a fool who thinks he is 
wise, and that’s the worst fool of all.” 

Ilya was cautious at once. He gave Rimsky a care- 
ful look, but Rimsky paid no attention to the look. 

“ Who told you I said I knew where Kirsakoff lived? ” 
demanded Ilya. 

“ You said it yourself. I heard you say it last Butter 
Week in the bazaar. You were drunk and you went 
boasting about to the old man from Pischenko with the 
red boots. I heard you say it, Ilya Andreitch.” 

Ilya ruffled his brow and tried to remember when he 
had been talking to a man with red boots from Pischenko. 
He knew no one in that town who had red boots — unless 
it was the butcher’s assistant who married the cake- 
maker. 

“ True,” said Ilya. 66 1 might have known then where 
Kirsakoff lived. I don’t deny it. Perhaps I was drunk 
Butter Week. It wasn’t my fault if I was sober. But 
that was a long time ago as time runs now — and I don’t 
know where Kirsakoff lives now. And if I did, I wouldn’t 
tell you.” 

Rimsky laughed good-naturedly. “ Let us have an- 
other drink. You are a good fellow. Of course you do 
not know where Michael Alexandrovitch lives. If you 
did, you could have money, as I have. It is worth money 
to know where the old Governor lives.” 

Ilya saw that Rimsky was getting very drunk and 
seeking an argument. 

“ If you knew where Kirsakoff lived, who would 
pay? ’’asked Ilya, becoming greedy at the mention of 
money. 

64 Who ? There are many. That is something I do 
101 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


not want to talk about, Ilya. Hold your tongue,” and 
Rimsky picked up his glass and filled it again. 

Ilya drank with sad mien, turning over in his mind Rim- 
sky’s statement that it was worth money to know where 
Kirsakoff lived. If that were true, Ilya argued to himself, 
he should have the money, for he knew where Kirsakoff 
lived with his daughter in an old log house in the outskirts 
of the city. 

“ I don’t intend to hold my tongue,” Ilya announced. 
“ What I want to know is who would pay money to know 
where Kirsakoff lives ! ” 

Rimsky was startled by the suddenness and vigor with 
which Ilya had put the matter before him. And Ilya 
leaned across the table, with a big and dirty fist thrust 
forward. 

“ Who? ” asked Rimsky. “ Why do you ask me that? 
What is there to fight over? We are good friends — we 
are — you are friend to me, or ” 

Rimsky swayed in his chair and could not finish. He 
made an effort to rally his drugged brain, but slipped 
deeper into the chair and his eyes closed on him despite 
all he could do to keep them open. His right arm flopped 
across the table limply, as useless as a dead seal’s flipper. 

“ Everybody knows where Michael Kirsakoff lives,” 
went on Ilya. “ Why should any one pay money for 
what every one knows. That knowledge is not worth a 
beggar’s kopeck.” Ilya lied, but he sought to learn all 
he could before Rimsky got too deep into drunken slumber. 

“ True,” muttered the befuddled Rimsky. “ You talk 
true talk, Ilya Andreitch. But why do you fight with 
me when I can’t see? What did I say? ” 

“ You talked about there being money in knowing where 
Kirsakoff lived,” accused Ilya. 

Rimsky tried to remember why he had said any such 
thing. The matter must be as Ilya said — no one would 
102 


OLD RIMSKY THINKS 


give a beggar’s kopeck to know where Kirsakoff lived. 
For that matter, Rimsky cared about nothing. The 
world was a very pleasant place for all people said about 
bad times. He could feel himself slipping away into a 
delicious unconsciousness, and he talked aloud the thoughts 
which crossed his mind. 

“ There is something wrong about this,” he confided to 
himself, unaware that Ilya could hear what was said. 
Then he went on, head on chest, and almost under the 
table, muttering into his whiskers. 

“ The American officer — no, a Russian — well, the 
American officer — he wants to know where Michael lives. 
And he — will pay well. Didn’t he come to my place ask- 
ing about the old Governor? And where did he go? 
Yes, the Dauria, I remember, even if I am drunk — to the 
Dauria, where the Bolsheviki smashed all the windows. I 
know. I remember the time my father’s cow fell in the 
river. Was Ilya there? No. How could Ilya be there 
— I am dreaming now. Let us all — be merry, for this 
is Carnival. Am I not a young man ? That is right — 
dance — dance ” 

Rimsky began to snore softly. The gypsy girl came 
and grinned at Ilya, who reached out unsteadily and 
plucked the flame from the candle. 

“ Let him sleep,” said Ilya to the girl. “ He is a good 
fellow,” and putting the cork back into the vodka-bottle 
which was half full by the best of good luck, he slipped 
it into his pocket, pulled his ragged old coat about his 
shoulders and tightened the rope belt. Then he slipped 
out of the restaurant, chuckling at his cleverness at put- 
ting Rimsky under the table and learning something which 
might put money into his own purse. Besides, he had 
the half-bottle of vodka. 

He made up his mind to go at once to the house of 
Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff and sell the news he 

103 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


had heard — an American officer was at the Hotel Dauria 
and wanted to find the old Governor. Perhaps Michael 
would give five rubles for that news — if not five, then four, 
anyhow, a piece of boiled partridge. But Ilya decided 
that he would do his best to get five rubles. Michael 
Kirsakoff had plenty of money, and who was he anyway? 
— once a Governor, true, but no better now than Ilya 
Andreitch. 


VIII 


PETER LAYS HIS PLANS 

P ETER went back to the Hotel Dauria after his 
talk with Rimsky. The sleepy-eyed youth who 
had promised a room, carried Peter’s baggage to 
the upper floor, where Peter signed the register in a cage- 
like little office. 

Then they went on down a hall past a dining room 
which was deserted. Peter looked in. It was filled with 
battered tables, tubbed rubber plants in the window sills, 
and crazy chairs which had been used in defense and had 
legs in splints. 

The walls had been stripped of paper. The mirrors of 
the buffet-counter at one end of the room had been 
smashed out and triangles of broken glass still stuck in the 
frames. The curtains had been pulled from the poles 
over the windows and the doors. Painted decorations on 
the wainscoting had been smeared with the contents of 
catsup and vinegar bottles, which had burst against the 
walls like star shells and the acids had discolored the pic- 
tures of the crude drawings so that the wall was spotted 
and leprous-looking. 

Peter was taken to a large room at the end of the hall. 
It had three double windows overlooking the end of a 
side street that ran into the Sofistkaya, with a view of 
the latter. He could see the old post-house and the roof 
of Rimsky’s hut sticking up between two higher buildings. 

There was an iron bed without bedding. There was a 
standing screen in front of it. The chairs had been 
broken but were repaired. There were slashes in the 
105 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


woodwork about the door where bayonets had evidently 
been thrust at former guests. And some of the guests 
had fared badly, judging by the dark stains on the old 
oilcloth which covered the floor. 

The plaster of the walls was pitted with bullet-holes, 
especially opposite the windows, and the panes of glass 
were newly puttied and still marked with the thumb-prints 
of the workmen. 

66 Can I have my meals served in the room? ” asked 
Peter. The youth yawned. 

“ Yes. If you pay extra. Ring this bell three times 
for the samovar girl,” and he pointed to a button in the 
wall near the door, and the youth departed, as if afraid 
that he would be asked to do something. 

There w r as an electric drop lamp on a writing table, 
and running water in a little sink against the wall behind 
the screen. There was a tall wardrobe set against a 
second door which evidently led to another room. 

It was hard for Peter to realize that Chita could be so 
modern. And the room, poor as it was, seemed like a 
palace to Peter. His mind had been readjusted to the 
things he had known as a boy by his visit to Rimsky. 
Peter Petrovitch Gorekin would have thought himself a 
king to have a room like this one in which Peter Gordon 
was to live. 

But there was no Peter Gordon now. Peter Gorekin 
was back in Chita. The scene which opened to him from 
the windows had been for twenty years in the back of his 
brain. The little hut, the post-house, the Sofistkaya! 
He found it hard to believe that he had ever been away 
from Chita at all. 

He sat down by the window. The mild heat from the 
radiator had thawed away most of the frost in the panes 
and he looked out over the city. Things that had been 
but memories were now real, truly existing before his eyes 
106 


PETER LAYS HIS PLANS 

in spite of his years of trying to blur their images out of 
his mind. 

The old superstitions of peasants and exiles which he 
had learned in his father’s hut as a boy returned to his 
mind — tales of werewolves who took the shapes of men 
for diabolical purposes. Was there not something in it 
all? Was not he himself something like a werewolf? 
Was he not a Russian in an American coat? Michael 
KirsakofF would never suspect an American officer of be- 
ing the son of a dead exile. Nor would Kirsakoff sus- 
pect an American officer of being the same poor boy who 
had been thrown into prison for a whim — now come for 
vengeance. 

The mysticism inherent in his race, the queer inarticu- 
late yearnings and the dissatisfactions of the Slavic soul, 
came to the surface in Peter’s consciousness. But now 
he had knowledge of things, and power, and the means 
of carrying out his own ends. He would play the game 
carefully to an end in Chita, and then go on to Irkutsk 
without any one’s suspecting that the American officer 
had killed Kirsakoff. 

He began to think of his return to Chita as a holy 
mission. Affairs had turned out well for him from the 
first. He had managed to get to Siberia instead of going 
to France. He had managed to get himself ordered to 
Irkutsk, and had slipped away from his Russian orderly 
with no one the wiser that Peter Gordon was really a 
Russian. And there was every evidence that Kirsakoff 
was still alive and that he was still in Chita. The reti- 
cence of Rimsky in discussing Kirsakoff was proof enough 
to Peter that the former Governor might be found some- 
where in the Valley of Despair. 

He took off his tunic and rang for a samovar. A slat- 
tern of a girl, dirty and unkempt, came trembling to the 
door to ask what was wanted. She was not more than 

107 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


fifteen — round-cheeked, with scared blue eyes, and brown 
hair down her back. She was wearing men’s cast-off old 
shoes. Peter looked at her with pity. 

“ Will you bring me some spice-cakes and a samovar? ” 
he asked gently. 

“Yes, master,” she said, and turned to escape. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” said Peter. “ I am an Amer- 
ican.” 

“ Yes, master,” she repeated. But she had no com- 
prehension of what he had said. 

“ Here are five rubles for you,” said Peter, holding out 
the note to her. 

But she fled through the door as he moved toward her. 

“ The same old system working,” thought Peter, as he 
watched the poor girl running down the hall. “ The poor 
people frightened out of their wits by the ruling class! 
Damn such a country ! ” 

He closed the door. He realized now that oppression 
was not dead in the country. His years in America had 
dimmed his memories of such scenes. He had begun to 
think that the revolution had bettered conditions for the 
people, that in the twenty years since he was a boy in 
Siberia there had been improvement. 

The old rage began to grow in him again. He lusted 
to kill. He wanted to help the people, aside from his 
own blood vengeance. He wondered if his dead father 
had not been able to help in having the son return to 
Chita. His return might be in the nature of a destiny 
which it would be sinful to avoid, even divine in its work- 
ings. It was all as if some controlling star had put power 
into his hands, and had swung him back to the land of his 
boyhood. It would be impossible to go against fate. He 
felt that no man could stand out against what had every 
sign of being a directed destiny. 

Peter was filled with a strange exaltation, a very frenzy 

108 


PETER LAYS HIS PLANS 


of joy over the thought that it would now be possible to 
pay off his old debt of revenge against Michael Kirsakoff. 
The words of an old folk song began to run through his 
mind and he hummed it gently, pausing to catch some of 
the almost forgotten words. 

He got out his razor and shaved himself before the big 
wall mirror between the windows. The peace and quiet 
of his room were luxuries after the days and nights of 
living and sleeping on the pounding train among the 
Czech soldiers. He had time now for careful planning, 
and he desired to make the acquaintance of Kirsakoff at 
leisure, arrange the details of how the Governor should 
be killed and then carry through the project with all 
possible skill so that his tracks might be covered. There 
would be many pitfalls to avoid, many nicely balanced 
circumstances. 

It would not be enough for Peter merely to kill Kirsa- 
koff. The Governor must know who brought death to 
him, must understand before he was sent into eternity 
that it was Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, son of the boot- 
maker, who took vengeance. 

The girl came with the samovar and the cakes and left 
them on the table. She fled again without taking the 
five-ruble note which Peter had left upon the table for 
her. 

Peter sat by the window and ate and drank. The sun 
dropped behind the rim of the hill and twilight came 
swiftly. In the street below a line of rude carts passed, 
drawn by frosty ponies with their drivers plodding along 
behind the carts. They walked like men in their sleep, 
oblivious of everything about them and steeped in the 
torturing cold. 

Farther up the street four men were drifting about 
aimlessly, tipsy with vodka. They drew together at times 
to engage in maudlin argument, and staggered about like 

109 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


clumsy bears, lurching at one another in wild plunges 
and falling in the street. 

The four roisterers disappeared. A squad of Japan- 
ese soldiers came stumbling down the street, evidently 
going on guard at the station for the night. They ap- 
peared to be half frozen, but they doggedly maintained 
some semblance of military formation. Their heads were 
so wrapped in cloths that they could hardly see their 
way, and the fur straps across their faces were white with 
frost from the moisture of their nostrils. Their big shoes 
were stuffed with straw, which hung out over the tops. 
The agonizing cold, despite the heavy clothing of the men, 
had penetrated to their bodies and had chilled them to a 
condition akin to lethargy. They walked as if through 
semiliquid air which impeded their movements. 

Peter remained by the window smoking, while the frost 
gradually grew up the windows. He was wondering how 
he could find Kirsakoff. It would not do to make direct 
inquiries. It might be possible to draw more from Rim- 
sky, but it would be wise to wait before pressing the cigar- 
ette-seller to talk about Kirsakoff. The graybeard would 
be suspicious — he was already suspicious that Peter had 
some other motive in going to the hut than buying cigar- 
ettes. Yes, it would be safer to keep away from Rimsky 
for a few days, and perhaps wise not to move about the 
city too much and start gossip. He might be watched at 
first, but after a few days his presence in the city would 
be taken as a matter of course. Then he could begin his 
quest for Kirsakoff. 

With this decision for the future, Peter prepared for 
bed. 


IX 


ILYA USES HIS WITS 

I LYA ANDREITCH, having left Rimsky in a state 
of gorgeous befuddlement at the gypsy’s restaurant, 
hurried up the street to the house of Michael Kirsa- 
koff and his daughter. It would be great news, the com- 
ing of an American who wished to find Kirsakoff. It 
might be a government matter, for as everybody with an 
ounce of brains in his head knew, the Americans were 
going to take full control of Russia — some wise folk 
even said that the Americans would annex Russia as a 
province of America. Others said the Czar had gone 
to America and had conquered it, including Venice. 
Those were matters which Ilya considered in spare mo- 
ments; just now he felt that this news of the American 
needed full attention. 

Ilya could see the glowing coals of a sentinels’ bon- 
fire up near the church. Also, there were sounds of 
music and singing in the direction of a barrack, and the 
rattle of a droshky coming across the little bridge over 
the Ingoda. So he did not feel too lonely. There was 
no moon up yet, but the stars were out and hanging low. 
The thin, sweet air drenched his lungs, and cleared his 
brain somewhat. 

Now he heard a man walking near by. Ilya stopped 
to listen, cocking his head to one side. But when Ilya 
stopped, the man stopped also — and then Ilya realized 
that it was his own footsteps which he had heard, crunch- 
ing the hard snow musically. He laughed discreetly, 
taking care that the sentries should not hear him, and 
started on again toward the outer rim of the city. 

Ill 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


But he was a little afraid that he might not get past 
some of the sentry groups without being stopped and ques- 
tioned, or perhaps arrested. He got off the hard walk 
and into the center of the sandy street, so that his boots 
would not make a noise. He got out his bottle — the 
bottle which he had taken from the restaurant table — 
and had a swig from it to give himself courage. It would 
be no simple matter to go talking to Kirsakoff, who, 
though an Excellence, was a cruel old bones of a man. 

But Ilya reflected that times had changed. He was as 
good as anybody now, and knew as much as anybody. 
The revolution had done that for him, and a revolution 
was good fun. Was not even Rimsky, who had once held 
himself to be better than a moujilc, now buying vodka for 
moujilcsf Hurrah for the revolution 1 And as for that, 
hadn’t he fooled Rimsky and drawn from him the news 
that the American had come to see Kirsakoff? That was 
proof enough as to who had the better wit. Ilya gave 
himself credit for the manner in which he had handled the 
whole matter. 

Kirsakoff should give at least five rubles for the news, 
not a kopeck less. Ilya settled that to his own satis- 
faction, took another swig, and went on. A wolf howled 
in the hills above the city, and Ilya crossed himself 
against the wiles of the devil. 

He passed the black dome of the church. The air was 
like crystal and nothing cast a shadow, not even the iron 
fence about the old cemetery of the church. And when 
the stars are so bright and hang so low that nothing 
throws a shadow, there are witches about. 

Ilya hurried on, getting more nervous with every step, 
till he was in the outer limits of the city. Then he crossed 
some old gardens to get in among the log houses which 
stood at the end of the street. In that way he avoided 
a group of sentries who were singing about their fire. 

112 


ILYA USES HIS WITS 


He located Kirsakoff’s house. It stood on a corner of 
two streets, with a log wall enclosing the dvor, or court- 
yard — the garden, the well, the wagon-sheds. The win- 
dows let out no light, but stood out like tablets of ivory 
set into the dark house, their frosty panes glistening un- 
der the stars. 

Ilya went round to the great gate. Some old water 
casks were lying about it in disorder. One of them was 
close to the wall of the court. Ilya moved it a little, and 
mounting it, reached up to some old cords and dead vines 
running along the top of the logs. He took off his mit- 
tens and felt for a cord that had tied in it a certain num- 
ber of knots. He pulled it thrice, and then climbed down 
from the cask, and stood in close to the wall, so that any 
person looking up the street would not see him, for his 
figure would be merged with the dark background of the 
wall. 

A sentry-fire burned redly out in the end of the street, 
A few dark figures were visible about it. Somewhere 
Ilya heard a Cossack challenge, and the rattle of a rifle- 
bolt in the crisp air. A pig began to squeal away in the 
direction of the Chinese quarter. Ilya missed the friendly 
barking of dogs, for the dogs of the city had somehow dis- 
appeared since the troubles came and many people were 
starving. The unnatural stillness of the night held a 
covert menace, as if all creatures, humans and wild beasts, 
were walking about on their toes in dread, or crouched to 
spring upon some lurking enemy. It was likely that hill 
tigers were about. The occasional howl of a wolf seemed 
to be tinged with a note of triumph, as if they were wait- 
ing for their old wilderness to be restored to them by 
men. The wolves were once more hunting close to the 
city and getting arrogant and fat. Men were too busy 
hunting each other to waste time or ammunition on the 
great packs of timber wolves. 

113 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


A small door in the wall, close to where Ilya stood, op- 
ened inward a few inches, slowly and cautiously, for the 
frost cracked the ancient hinges with sharp complaints. 

“ It is Ilya — Ilya Andreitch,” he whispered into the 
aperture of the gate. 

“ You are a fool to come here in the starlight,” 
growled Wassili. “ Are you blind, that you cannot see 
the brightness of the stars, or have you a mole for an 
uncle ? ” 

“ What does it matter? 99 whispered Ilya easily. He 
did not mind being insulted by Wassili, knowing in time 
that he would have the laugh on Kirsakoff’s moujik. 

The gate opened a few more inches, and Ilya needed 
no greater hint, but slipped through, and the gate closed 
after him. 

“You smell like a kabak grumbled Wassili. 

“ That is why you opened the gate,” said Ilya with a 
chuckle. “You have a nose for vodka, even if you are 
not civil to your friends.” 

“ But you will be seen by enemies, to come here so 
boldly,” went on Wassili, not so easily altered in his 
temper. 

“ I? No one saw me. I am as secret as an owl. 
Those fools of soldiers are all drunk and talking in their 
sleep. They shoot their guns at the moon every night, 
to scare honest folk away.” 

“What brings you?” demanded Wassili. “Am I to 
stand here freezing because you want to gossip?” 

“ I came to talk with Michael Alexandrovitch,” said 
Ilya with pomposity. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, 
for the vodka he had drunk was again asserting its po- 
tency because he had been standing still so long outside 
the gate. He blew gently down into his whiskers to melt 
away the ice which had formed in the bristles from his 
breath. 


114 


ILYA USES HIS WITS 


“Hmf!” growled Wassili. “ Perhaps you think Mi- 
chael Alexandrovitch has baked a pig for your coming? 
Have you forgotten that Michael Alexandrovitch is an 
Excellence? ” 

“ I am as good as he, Excellence or no Excellence,” re- 
torted Ilya. “ What I remember is the revolution, and 
that Ilya Andreitch is as good as the Czar. But I have 
brought news for the Excellence. Are we to stand here 
warming the night with our breaths, when Michael Alex- 
androvitch would be glad to know what I know? ” 

“ He could salt his porridge with what you know,” 
scorned Wassili. “ What news do you bring? 99 He was 
still doubtful of the legitimacy of Ilya’s visit, and sus- 
pected his coming to be a desire for drunken argu- 
ment. 

“ When a man brings news in these times, he might have 
a glass of hot tea,” hinted Ilya. “ It is about govern- 
ment, and I have come with big news about what is being 
done outside this place.” 

“ You have brought a monkey with you, that is what,” 
muttered Wassili, meaning that Ilya was foolishly drunk. 
But he fastened the bolt of the gate. He was now shiv- 
ering with the cold and sulky about it, though he did not 
dare risk sending Ilya away if there was any chance of 
valuable information’s coming to the attention of his 
master, Kirsakoff. 

“Whoosh! Is not a monkey smarter than a fox? 
You old pothead, you sit here all day looking at your 
feet, while I learn government news and risk my neck to 
bring it here and ” 

“Be still!” commanded Wassili. “You can be heard 
to the hills a night like this! You smell of fresh-killed 
pig and vodka, for all your government talk. Is that the 
way to come to the house of Excellence? Follow along 
with that noisy tongue of yours, but keep your fingers on 
115 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


it, for it wags too freely and you will lose it along with 
your head, if you are not careful.” 

“ Yes, and I’ll bring a drink of vodka along for you, 
if you have a fire in your samovar, you old spider.” 

“ It is good you bring something besides talk,” 
grumbled Wassili, as he led the way under the overhang- 
ing roof of the shed and along through the gloom to the 
door of the kitchen. Ilya stumbled along after him, 
blundering among the kettles and other gear and making 
such a racket that Wassili cursed him for having too 
many legs. But Ilya, in a gay mood, chuckled into his 
beard and was only concerned lest he lose his footing and 
have a tumble that would break the precious bottle in his 
pocket. 

They entered the kitchen, which had its windows hung 
with old blankets to keep the light hidden. There was a 
wall-stove and a cooking stove with ovens built of stone. 
A candle burned on the table. There were partridge 
feathers in a sink and the remnants of cabbages that had 
been cut up on a board. A big earthen jar of goose- 
berry jam stood open on the table and beside it a fat 
yellow bowl full of white honey, which gave off a sweet 
odor and made Ilya think of bees in the fields in summer. 

Wassili sat down and rested his elbows on the table. 
His pockmarked face had a glum look, and his pale yel- 
low whiskers bristled with belligerency for Ilya, as if the 
moujik were in for trouble unless his story should be of 
sufficient import for the visit. Wassili’s blue caftan, pale 
and washed out like the garment of a Chinese coolie, was 
strapped about him with a bit of scarlet cloth which had 
once been embroidered. His feet were wrapped in skins, 
ready to be slipped into the big boots standing limply by 
the bench upon which he sat. He had not put them on 
when he went out to admit Ilya. 

“ Let us be merry while we can,” began Ilya, anxious to 

116 


ILYA USES HIS WITS 


improve the atmosphere of the kitchen as represented 
by the scowling Wassili. So Ilya threw himself down 
sprawlingly on a bench opposite Wassili, and loosened 
the old rope about his coat. Then he pulled his bottle 
from his pocket with a flourish of good-fellowship and 
slammed it down upon the table with a thump. “ We will 
all be dead in time that will come soon enough, so I will 
have a glass of tea and a spice-Cake before I talk with 
the Excellence.” 

44 The wind is full of news,” said Wassili sadly, but the 
sight of the bottle put him in slightly better humor. He 
leaned down and squinted across it, to gauge its contents. 

64 How is the health of Excellence? ” asked Ilya, his 
courage bolstered by a sudden remembrance of his own 
importance and a desire to return to the subject of state- 
craft in connection with Michael Kirsakoff. 

Without answering, Wassili poured himself a generous 
draft from the bottle into a thick glass, and nodding to 
Ilya in place of speaking a health, tossed the liquor of? 
with a clicking sound in his throat and a harsh appreci- 
ative grunt. 

44 Bring the spice-cakes and the glasses for tea,” he 
called out to the other room. An old serving woman 
peered into the kitchen, appraised Ilya with critical eyes, 
and then shambled away for the cakes and glasses. 

Ilya’s yellowed teeth grinned across the table at Was- 
sili. 

44 Now when am I to talk with Michael Alexandrovitch, 
eh? ” he demanded, crossing his legs importantly and rub- 
bing one knee with his paw of a hand. 44 Don’t forget 
why I have come, Wassili, and that my business is with 
the master.” 

44 You will see Excellence when you see him,” said Wasr 
sili. 

44 True ! ” said Ilya. 44 But I shall not leave that to 

117 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


you, if I have to hammer him up myself. This is a mat- 
ter of government.” 

“ There is no one in the house but the old woman and 
myself,” said Wassili, with a flourish of his arm. “ Ex- 
cellence is gone, and your whiskers will be longer before 
you see him.” 

“ May the devil tear out your tongue, for it does not 
speak the truth,” said Ilya without anger. “ This is not 
a time for lying, when your master is waiting for news 
from me.” 

Wassili flourished his arm as an expression of his an- 
noyance, and blurted out surlily, “ Then go above for 
yourself and see, if you know better than I.” 

The old woman shuffled into the room, and put the 
glass and a plate of cakes before Ilya, giving him a sus- 
picious eye, and glancing disapprovingly at Wassili for 
permitting what she regarded as a dangerous intrusion. 
But she did not linger at the table longer than was neces- 
sary to throw down the plate and the tea-glass. 

Ilya picked up a spice-cake and inspected it carefully 
by the light of the candle, the maneuver being nothing 
but a way of delaying his speech till the old woman had 
disappeared. 

“ I have come with news about an American who is in 
the city,” he began, and bit into the cake. 

Wassili turned upon him quickly. 

“ You are a liar ! ” he exclaimed with ferocity. “ There 
are no Americans in the city here — they are only in 
Vladivostok, and you are blowing a trumpet in this house 
while you eat our cakes.” Wassili’s attitude was almost 
ferocious. 

“ Then you know better than I,” said Ilya, blinking at 
him across the table and munching the dry cake. 

“ You are drunk, and you dare come here in these 
times and put a fool’s cap on me — and the master ! ” 

118 


ILYA USES HIS WITS 


“ True, I am drunk,” replied Ilya through a mouthful 
of dry cake. “ And I hope I’ll die drunk and go to 
heaven. But do you think I’m fool enough to run my 
legs off and come here, risking bullets in my back when 
I might be sitting by the fire with my bottle? Do you 
think I come here just to look at your old mud-head? 
I cared nothing for your master before the revolution, 
but now that I’m as good as he, why should I not do him 
a good turn if I can — and he has a few spare rubles to 
make it worth my time? ” Ilya blew crumbs of dry bis- 
cuit at Wassili with the words. 

“ Don’t come here and preach at me like a pope i ” cau- 
tioned Wassili, who was puzzled by Ilya’s newly acquired 
attitude of independence. Ilya was evidently sure of his 
ground — or gone mad entirely. 

“What!” cried Ilya. “You talk to me like that! 
And I have come to tell the master news ! Very good. I 
know the way home again, and may your bones never know 
what it means to be buried.” 

“Where are these Americans you talk about?” de- 
manded Wassili, as he saw that it would be wiser to let 
Ilya have his say. 

Ilya snorted, but showed his teeth in a grin of triumph. 
“ I shall go and tell the American officer that Kirsakoff 
and his daughter have gone, eh? That is what you say. 
Very good. That will be all right, I suppose — till it 
happens that way, and then Excellence will kick you till 
you squeal. Then you will wish that you had listened to 
Ilya Andreitch and had not tried to make yourself into 
an Excellence with big manners.” 

“ Come, come,” protested Wassili amiably. “ Let us 
not argue. Tell me what you know and ” 

“ I shall tell Excellence myself,” broke in Ilya. “ I 
am a free man. What good is a revolution if one man 
cannot speak to another? Go and tell Excellence that 

119 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Ilya Andreitch, who cut wood for him in the year of the 
pestilence, has come with news.” 

Wassili laughed, and taking advantage of a fit of sneez- 
ing suffered by Ilya from having breathed particles of dry 
cake, helped himself to another draft from the bottle of 
vodka. 

“ Perhaps I had better tell Excellence that a Grand 
Duke has come to see him, eh?” and Wassili reached 
across the table and poked Ilya in the ribs. 

“ Am I not as good as a Grand Duke? ” demanded Ilya. 
“ I am alive to enjoy my vodka and many a Grand Duke 
would like to be able to say that, you old fish-gut! Go 
and tell the Excellence that I have come.” 

Wassili got up. “ See that you don’t finish the bottle 
while I’m gone,” he warned Ilya, and disappeared through 
a door into a hall, and Ilya heard him climbing a creaky 
stairs. 


X 


“AN AMERICAN HAS COME!” 

M ICHAEL KIRSAKOFF was seated at a table 
writing a letter by the light of a candle when 
Wassili knocked at the door of his room. The 
old general’s eyes lifted to the door and made a pair of 
gleaming points against the gloom behind him. The 
broad gold straps on the shoulders of his uniform jacket 
set off his white old head so that it appeared to be resting 
on a golden tray which threw out a quivering sheen of 
yellow light with the trembling of his shoulders. His thin 
white hand dropped the pen. He motioned to Katerin to 
move behind him so that she stood in the shadow of his 
body, and recognizing Wassili’ s cautious knock, he or- 
dered the moujik to enter. 

“ Master, Ilya Andreitch has come with news of the 
government.” 

“Who is Ilya Andreitch?” demanded the old general. 
“ Ilya, he who once cut wood for the Excellence. I 
know the man well. He has often bought food for us in 
the bazaar since we came here. He helped me to bring 
many things to this house from the other, but he is drunk 
to-night. Yet he vows he has news of the government.” 

The old general was puzzled. Katerin stepped into the 
light and looked at Wassili eagerly. 

“ What is the news Ilya brings ? ” she asked gently, 
afraid that her father might say something which would 
discourage Wassili from permitting Ilya to tell his story. 
“ There is an American officer come to Chita to find the 
121 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Excellence,” said Wassili, with a bow. “ I do not know 

— it is Ilya Andreitch who says it and he ” 

Katerin struck her hands together and gave a cry of 
joy. 66 An American!” she cried. “Can it be, my fa- 
ther, that our friends have at last sent help to us? ” 

44 Y ou say an officer ? ” exclaimed Michael, his eyes on 
Wassili, and burning with an eager light. 

“ So it is said, master.” 

“By the Holy Saints!*” exclaimed Michael. “We 
shall escape Zorogoff if this is true ! Who else can have 
sent him but our friends ? ” 

Katerin was crying with joy. She threw her arms 
about her father’s neck and kissed him. Till now she 
had restrained her emotions, hidden her fears, and faced 
death calmly, but the news that aid was at hand released 
all her terrors and flooded them with a burst of happindss* 
“ True, our friends have got our letters and have sent 
an American to save us ! ” she exclaimed through her tears. 
“ God of the heavens is good to us, and has answered our 
pra}^ers at last, so that we shall have peace and safety. 
This is the end of your tortures, my father! ” 

44 It is of you I think, Katerin Stephanovna,” said Mi- 
chael, and he grasped her hands and pulled them to his 
mouth to kiss them. 44 What I have suffered I have suf- 
fered for you, for death means nothing to me if you can 
be safe.” 

44 Tell us, Wassili,” urged Katerin. 44 Did the Amer- 
ican officer bring word from friends? Is he to come here 
for us and take us away? And did he say who sent him? ” 
The gray old head of Michael snapped forward, the 
wisps of white hair waving gently. His eyes bored into 
Wassili wdiiie waiting for the moujik to answer. 

44 Ilya Andreitch told me but little, master. At first I 
thought he was drunk and did not trust him. And when 
I told him that he must tell me, he said he would talk with 

m 


“AN AMERICAN HAS COME!” 


no one but Excellence, and that it was secret. Thus I 
would not bring him up till you had given the order for 
his coming.” 

“ Then he is below now? Bring him up, and hasten, for 
we have no time to lose. Zorogoff may be here again with 
the light of morning and I am but now writing what shall 
be done when he has killed me. We must see this Amer- 
ican officer with all speed before the Ataman is able to 
balk him. By the Holy Saints ! This will save my 
daughter from death — for she will die before she sub- 
mits to the will of this Mongol brigand! Go! Bring 
Ilya Andreitch before me and we shall hear his say ! ” 

Wassili ran out into the hall and down the stairs, well 
pleased with the results of his report to his master, for 
he had feared that he had made a mistake in admitting 
Ilya at all. 

Michael and Katerin could scarcely wait for Ilya to 
come up. The news of deliverance from their dangers — 
safety so close at hand after long weary months of hiding 
and worry — came like a pardon to two who were con- 
demned to death. It had been five days since the Ataman 
had left them. He was still torturing them, for his 
threat against Katerin would undoubtedly be carried out 
unless she killed herself. They knew that Zorogoff would 
attempt to take them to his “ palace ” in revenge for their 
insults. And they had planned to die together rather 
than to permit the Mongol to carry out his evil purpose. 
That was the only way in which they could defeat him. 

“ Our letter to the Baranoffs got through,” said Mi- 
chael. “ It is they who have sent this American.” 

“And do you think he will come here — to-night?” 
asked Katerin, her pale, drawn face alight with the joy of 
escape. “ I cannot believe yet that we are to be safe 
again ! God has answered my prayers ! My father, I 
had given up hope ! ” 


ITS 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 Perhaps Ilya brings a letter from the American of- 
ficer,” said Michael. 44 If he has sent word to us by 
Ilya, he must have also given Ilya something so that we 
shall know the American comes from friends. We cannot 
delay. If the Ataman should hear of this Amer- 
ican ” 

44 They are coming up,” said Katerin, and they heard 
Wassili and Ilya mounting the stairs. Soon the light of 
a shaking candle appeared down the hall, and Katerin 
threw open the door of the room. 

Wassili blew out the candle when he entered, and thrust 
Ilya in ahead of him. 

44 Here is Ilya Andreitch, master,” said Wassili, and 
Ilya blinked at the candle on Michael’s table, bowed, and 
stood nervously fingering his cap. 

44 You bring us news, Ilya Andreitch,” began Michael 
when Katerin had closed the door. Michael’s thin, weak 
voice took on some of the relief he felt at knowing that 
help was at hand after months of danger in a world which 
had apparently gone mad, and he spoke somewhat in his 
old manner of authority. 

“I?” asked Ilya. 44 Yes, Excellence. I bring good 
news to your house — and to the mistress.” He bowed 
again, this time to Katerin, who had gone to her father. 

44 Wassili says an American officer has sent you,” 
prompted Katerin, seeing that Ilya was perturbed and 
might be stricken dumb by fear of being before the former 
Governor. 

44 He is at the Dauria, mistress,” said Ilya faintly, and 
turned to Wassili as if he expected the moujik to take up 
the story now, and go on with it. 

44 At the Dauria Hotel,” agreed Katerin. 46 And you 
have brought a message from him to us? ” 

Ilya looked round the room wildly, seeking some escape 
from the eyes of Michael which bore upon him steadily. 

m 


44 AN AMERICAN HAS COME!” 


44 Have you a message from the American?” asked 
Katerin gently. 

44 1?” Ilya looked at her in amazement, and turned 
toward the door. Then he bowed again to Michael and 
Katerin to cover his confusion. 

44 What did the American say?” urged Katerin, and 
Wassili gave utterance to a faint snort of disgust and 
prodded Ilya in the back. 

44 What did the American say? Who knows?” asked 
Ilya. 

44 The fool is drunk ! ” growled Michael. 44 Come ! 
Speak up ! Or have you drowned your tongue in vodka 
and come here to make fools of us?” 

Ilya’s face began to perspire, and he twisted his cap 
into a rope. 

44 Have no fear, Ilya,” said Katerin soothingly. 

44 May God smite me ! ” cried Ilya. 44 It was Rimsky 
who told me about it and I ran here to tell the Excel- 
lence ! ” 

44 And who is Rimsky ? ” demanded Michael. 44 Where 
did he learn of the man who has come to see me? ” 

Ilya brushed his brow with the back of his hand. 
44 Rimsky is an old friend of mine — a good man, Excel- 
lence, who means harm to no one and is a loyal man to 
his Czar.” 

44 And what did this Rimsky tell you ? ” 

44 That the Excellence would pay me well to bring the 
news.” 

Michael laughed and his irritation disappeared. 

44 So you have a friend named Rimsky who gives away 
my money, eh ? And so I will pay you — if we can dig 
the news out of your skull. Now tell us what it is that 
the American said.” 

Ilya began to twist his cap into a rope with both 
hands, and swallowed spittle. 

125 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Excellence, I have done no harm,” he began. “ I 
am a poor man. I once cut wood for the Excellence. I 
am very secret. Rimsky tried to fish it from me where 
the Excellence was living, but I did not tell him. I left 
him drunk, and he does not know that I know where the 
Excellence lives, and he does not know I have come to the 
house of Excellence.” 

Ilya looked triumphantly at Katerin after this speech, 
and bowed again, feeling that he had handled the matter 
well, though he sought a sign of approval from the daugh- 
ter of the Governor. 

“ What has all this to do with the American officer? ” 
asked Michael. “ That is what we are talking about, 
Ilya. You are very smart to have done what you did — 
now tell us more of it.” 

“ Rimsky sells cigarettes in an old isba in the Sofist- 
kaya,” resumed Ilya. “ He told me it was a pity he 
did not know where the Excellence lived, and he fished me 
for it. That is all. And I have come to tell Excellence.” 

Michael expressed his dismay by a look at Katerin. 
He believed now that Ilya’s visit was only some drunken 
foolishness, or probably a trick. 

“ They have told this to Ilya so that they might follow 
him here. This is the work of enemies,” said Michael. 

“Master!” began Wassili, holding up his hand, and 
then turning to Ilya, said, “ You told me it was a matter 
of government. You said there was an American. Tell 
the master, as you told me, fool ! ” 

“ May God smite me, it is as I say ! ” retorted Ilya 
to Wassili with a show of anger. “ There is an American 
come for Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, the master 
general and Governor. It is truth ! ” 

“ You say it, but how do you know it? ” asked Katerin. 
She was beginning to feel that her father was right — 
that there were no grounds for their hopes other than a 

126 


“AN AMERICAN HAS COME!” 


desire of this crafty mowjik and some of his fellows to 
squeeze money from her father. But she concealed her 
disappointment. 

“ Rimsky told me, mistress, that is how I know,” said 
Ilya with a bow. 

“ And it was Rimsky who sent you to this house? ” said 
Michael. “ Now, the truth ! ” 

Ilya stared at the floor and tried to think. In a way, 
it was true that Rimsky had sent him to the house, and 
yet it was not true in just the way that Michael was say- 
ing. The moujik’s brain was not equal to a quick and 
accurate reply when folk of education twisted things up 
so. 

“I? No, master. Rimsky does not know I came to 
this house. How could he send me here when he has no 
knowledge of where the Excellence lives? I told no one 
because I am very secret, master.” 

“ Then the American did not send you ? ” snapped Mi- 
chael. 

Ilya turned to Katerin. “ There is an American, mis- 
tress,” he insisted. 

“ You know nothing of an American but what this fool 
Rimsky told you?” insisted Michael. “Come! You 
have not seen the American?” 

“ How could I see him, master? ” asked Ilya. 

Michael gave a snort of disgust and leaned back in his 
chair. “ It is nothing,” he said sadly. “ Send Ilya 
away,” with a look at Wassili. 

“ I can see the American, mistress,” pleaded Ilya, 
aghast at the idea that his visit had come to nothing and 
fearful of what Wassili might do once they were in the 
courtyard again. “ I speak truth ! There is an Amer- 
ican officer come seeking the master general ! ” 

“ Ilya Andreitch, I will give you fifty rubles if you 
will find this American,” said Katerin, hopeful again as 

127 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


she saw that Ilya was in earnest — at least she was de- 
termined not to make the mistake of sending Ilya away 
without making sure of what he did know. She knew that 
he was frightened, and that behind his fear there was more 
information than he was able to put into words. 

“ I can find him, mistress, if he is at the Dauria — I 
know the place well. I was there but yesterday with pig- 
livers.” His eyes glittered with the richness of the re- 
ward promised. 

“ This is a trap of ZorogofF’s to get us to leave the 
house,” growled Michael. 

“ Not if there is an American in the city to see us,” 
said Katerin. 

66 Some spy got Rimsky to tell this story to Ilya and 
then watch him to see where he went. I do not like it. 
Or perhaps they want you to go to the hotel seeking this 
mythical officer and seize you there. I tell you it is a 
trap, my daughter.” 

But Katerin picked up the pen on the table and wrote 
on a sheet of paper this note in Russian : 

The man who takes this to you can find us again. Time is 
precious for we are in great danger. Be discreet. Say who 
sends you that we may know you are from friends. 

She did not sign the note, but dried the ink over the 
candle, folded it, and handed it to Ilya with a handful 
of rubles which she took from between the leaves of a 
book on the table. 

“ Give this to the American officer if you find him at 
the Dauria. If he has come for us, let him tell you so. 
But you are not to come back here to our house — Was- 
sili will meet you at the sohrania at midnight, and you are 
to tell Wassili what the American says. Do not tell the 
American where we are but let him send a message and 
the name of the friend who has sent him. That will be 

128 


“ AN AMERICAN HAS COME ! ” 


our proof that he is not an enemy. Talk with no one 
about this — and when you have told Wassili what the 
American says, go home to bed and do not drink. If 
you give a true message to Wassili you shall have fifty 
rubles more to-morrow.” 

“ He will be drunk as an owl ten minutes after he gets 
to the Sofistkaya and the first kabak,” grumbled Michael. 
44 And if he finds this American, how is the American to 
read Russian? 99 

44 If he come from friends, he must know something of 
Russian, else he would not have come by himself — and 
perhaps he has with him some man who can read it for 
him.” 

44 You are wasting your breath and my ink,” said Mi- 
chael. 44 1 think nothing of this business.” 

44 God’s blessing on you, mistress,” said Ilya, crossing 
himself twice and turning to follow Wassili out of the 
room. 44 I shall be very secret and do as you command 
— and I shall not go drinking wine with the money.” 

Wassili lighted his candle from the flame of the one 
burning on the table and opened the door. Ilya went out 
before him, and they both descended the stairs. 

44 It is all a trap, as I have said,” Michael went on 
again, staring disconsolately into the flame of the candle, 
his head bent forward on his breast. 44 This is the Ata- 
man’s work — and he will come again in the morning to 
mock us.” 

44 I have faith that God has saved our lives,” said Ka- 
terin. 44 If an American is in the city who seeks us, I 
shall go to him myself in case Ilya fails us.” 

44 Then you would be going to your doom, my daugh- 
ter,” and Michael dropped his face into his outspread 
arms upon the table to conceal the dejection which had 
come over him again since he believed that Ilya had come 
on a fool’s errand. 


129 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Hope is greater than fear, my father,” said Katerin, 
and lifted his head from the table to kiss him. “ Who 
knows? By dawn we may be safe with this American. 
We must pray that Wassili will bring us a message at 
midnight which means the end of our troubles. Zorogoff 
will not dare defy an American officer.” 

“ Zorogoff will defy the devil himself,” said Michael. 
“ I put little hope in this fool’s tale, but if it will make 
3 ^ou happy, I will hope and believe till we know that there 
is nothing to be gained from this Ilya and his foolish- 
ness. And what you have just said about going to the 
hotel yourself — that must not be. I shall not let you 
out of my sight.” 

“ Then perhaps we may both go,” said Katerin. “ We 
would be in no greater danger if we tried to find the 
American than if we waited here for Zorogoff.” 

“ We shall stay here,” said Michael. 64 1 am too old 
and wise to be fooled by Mongol tricks. If I knew you 
could be safe I would be happy to say farewell to you 
forever — but God tells me that we are in greater danger 
now than ever, and we must trust no one. Come ! Hand 
me my pen again, that I may write down the things you 
should remember when I am dead.” 


XI 


THE FLIGHT 

W ASSILI lurked in front of the sobrania from 
midnight till near morning. There was a 
ball going on inside the building and many 
people coming and going during the night, mostly of- 
ficers of ZorogofPs forces and their women. But Wassili 
saw nothing of Ilya, though he gossiped with the droshky- 
drivers about the sobrania , warming himself against the 
biting cold by frequent drinks of tea at a restaurant 
across the street. 

When he had almost decided to return to Kirsakoff and 
report that he had not seen Ilya, he heard that Ilya had 
been killed. Then Wassili gathered such details as he 
could, and along toward morning hastened homeward with 
his story. 

Katerin saw the disaster in the moujik's face when he 
appeared at the door of her room, breathing hard from a 
run up the stairs. His hands were covered with candle 
wax as a result of their shaking. 

“ What news, Wassili? ” she cried. 

“ The Cossacks killed Ilya soon after he left this house, 
mistress,” panted Wassili. “ He crossed an old garden 
to evade the sentries, and did not stop when they halted 
him. He fell with six bullets in him — and they say in 
the city that he was a spy, for he carried a secret mes- 
sage.” 

“ Your message to the American,” said Michael, who 
had waited up for the return of Wassili. “ If is as I 
said — Ilya was bait for the Ataman’s trap. There is no 

131 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


American. If you had gone with Ilya you would have 
been seized, my daughter, and if I had gone, I would have 
been shot down. We are lost — the story about the 
American was a myth to draw us from the house.” 

“ But, master, there is truth in what Ilya told us,” put 
in Wassili. 

“What?” cried Michael. “You, too? Are you fool 
enough to believe now what Ilya Andreitch said? ” 

Katerin had sat down on a bench when she heard that 
Ilya had been killed, her hope crushed again. Now she 
sprang up at Wassili’s words, waiting for him to go on. 

“It is truth, master,” insisted Wassili. “I had the 
news in the city, so what Ilya said must have been true.” 

“Who told you?” cried Katerin. “Did they say he 
had come for us? Is he at the Dauria? Did you see 
him ? ” 

Wassili was overwhelmed by such a volley of questions, 
and he paused to catch his breath and assort his informa- 
tion from his memory before he should reply. 

“Come! Come! Rattle your tongue, Wassili!” com- 
manded Michael. “ Sit here and talk ! ” 

Wassili sank upon the bench while Michael and Katerin 
hovered over him. 

“ An iswostchik told me,” began Wassili. “ His father 
was in the Siberian Rifles with mine and I can trust his 
word. He told me that he drove an American officer to 
the Dauria — two days ago. If the American officer is 
there now, I cannot say. But there is none among the 
iswostchiks who has taken him back to the station. That 
I know, for I asked many of them — and they would know 
if the stranger had been taken away.” 

“ Thanks to God ! ” cried Katerin. “ Then though 
poor Ilya is dead, there is still hope for us. We must 
pray that he spoke the truth. Tell us more, Wassili.” 

“ It came about this way,” resumed Wassili. “ I 

132 


THE FLIGHT 


heard my friend boasting of how he had brought a rich 
American to the Dauria — this officer — and how he paid 
double fare in Imperial rubles without any complaint. 
Not knowing what was the right fare, and not knowing 
that Imperials are worth thrice the money now in this 
city prove him to be a stranger. That he was an Amer- 
ican, my friend is sure, for he was in Vladivostok last 
month and smuggled opium in here for the Chinese when 
he came up by the train. Why, he even knows the Amer- 
icans so well that he speaks American. He cannot be 
fooled — be got rich in Vladivostok changing money for 
Americans.” 

“ But does the American seek us ? ” urged Katerin. 
She was anxious to establish the fact that the American 
bad come to help them escape the Ataman. 

“ I heard nothing of that, mistress,” replied Ilya. 

Michael pondered the matter carefully. 

“ It all means no good for us,” he said finally. “ This 
officer may have sent Ilya to us, but why was Ilya shot? 
I say it looks like a trap.” 

“ But Zorogoff’s spies may have known that the 
American sent Ilya, and may have killed Ilya so no word 
could go back from us,” said Katerin. 

“ I grant that, yes,” said Michael, but still he had his 
doubts, and shook his head sadly. 

“ And if Zorogoff knows that an American officer has 
come, then the Ataman will not dare persecute us further. 
Did you hear the name of this American, Wassili? ” asked 
Katerin. 

“ Mistress, I know nothing more. I did not dare go to 
the hotel when I heard that Ilya had been killed, but came 
back here for the orders of Excellence.” 

“ And that was right,” said Michael. 

6< Shall I go now to the American officer, master? ” 
asked Wassili. 


133 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Let me think on it,” said Michael. “ They killed 
Ilya and they may also kill you. It is dangerous business 
and we must be cautious. If it is true that an American 
has come, then the Ataman will do one of two things — 
strike speedily or leave us in peace. I believe that he will 
destroy us. I wish my wits were equal to telling me what 
I should do.” 

“ We must not leave it to the Ataman,” declared Ka- 
terin. “ The time has come for us to make our decisions 
— we it is who must act and not wait for the Ataman to 
make up his mind.” 

“ We! What do you mean, my daughter? What is it 
we can do ? ” 

“ Do something before the Ataman returns.” 

“What? What is it we can do, surrounded as we 
are? ” 

There was a new look of determination in Katerin’s 
face. “ The time has come to be bold,” she said. “ If 
ZorogofF expects us to wait here for his will or his com- 
ing, we must surprise him — we must go straight to this 
American officer and ask him to help us to escape the city, 
even if he has not been sent to us by friends. But I’m 
sure we will find that he has been dispatched here to res- 
cue us.” 

Michael put his hands to his face and stared at Katerin, 
aghast at her suggestion. He turned and sat down in 
his chair as if he had no strength to remain standing 
longer. “ What in the name of God are you saying? ” 
he whispered. “ Do you mean we should put ourselves at 
the mercy of the Ataman? ” 

“Are we not now at the mercy of the Ataman? Arc 
we not waiting for his men to knock at the door? How 
much worse off will we be if we make an attempt to reach 
this American ? ” 

“ And how much better? ” asked Michael. “ Will it do 

m 


THE FLIGHT 


us more good to be shot down by the sentries as was Ilya 
than to remain here waiting for some turn of fortune 
which will save us?” 

“ Fortune has made the turn,” replied Katerin. 
“ What more do we ask than that an American officer 
be in the city ? ” 

“ But if we never reach the hotel? What good would 
a regiment of Americans do us if we are shot on the 
way? ” 

“ We must take the chance and get to the hotel,” de- 
clared Katerin. 6< Surely, you must see that it is better 
to risk ourselves for the short time necessary to get to 
the Dauria than to remain here and wait for certain 
doom.” 

Madness ! ” exclaimed Michael. “ What we would be 
going to would be death in the dark.” 

“ We shall go by the first daylight, while the sentries 
are being changed in the streets,” said Katerin quietly. 
It was plain that her mind was settled upon the 
thing. 

Michael peered at her across the candle flame as if he 
doubted her sanity. But Katerin looked back at him 
without the slightest sign that she wavered in her deter- 
mination to abandon the house. 

“ I see what you mean,” said Michael sadly. “ You 
prefer to die by bullets rather than by the poison. Per- 
haps it is the better way — and I shall go with you and we 
shall die together.” 

Katerin went to him and took up his hands. “ I shall 
not cross the threshold of that Mongol’s house alive, my 
father. I prefer to chance death — and if we fail — 
then we are with God and have died as Russians. It is 
better to die by the bullet of a soldier than by my own 
hand. Remember the threat of Zorogoff and consider my 
reasons for not fearing death.” 

135 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Michael gave the table a mighty thump with his fist. 
“ Truth, by the Holy Saints ! ” he exclaimed. “ But I 
am the one to make the attempt to get to the hotel — and 
find the American. I cannot see you walk into the streets 
with such wolves about.” 

“ No,” said Katerin, “ I do not wish you to go alone. 
We shall go together — and if we must, we shall die to- 
gether. But we cannot go against the designs of God — 
if the American officer has been sent to this city by friends 
to save us, we must not lose a minute in making ourselves 
known to him. The Ataman said he would come back — 
and he will come. He knows what I fear more than death. 
Very good. We must not wait here for him to come — 
It is not in us to lie hidden here like jackals in traps for 
the pleasure of the Mongol dog. We must flee with all 
possible speed toward the American.” 

“ You are right,” agreed Michael. “ Zorogoff will lose 
no time if he learns of this American — and perhaps he 
knows of the stranger now. At least, as Wassili heard it, 
it must be common gossip in the city. So whatever Zoro- 
goff plans against us he will accomplish without delay. 
But how are we to escape from the house? Are we to go 
out openly, as we are? ” 

“ We shall escape through the servants’ gate,” said 
Katerin, her eyes on the candle as she planned. 66 It will 
be safer to wear the clothing of peasants. If there is a 
morning fog, it will help to conceal us. The greatest risk 
is in being seen as we get into the street. We cannot 
know how closely the house is being watched. But once 
clear and into the street, who is to think that two poor 
peasants are Michael Kirsakoff and his daughter — un- 
less we should be stopped by soldiers and made to tell 
what our business is, where we came from, and who we 
are.” 

“ True, that is the difficulty,” said Michael. “ But as 

136 


THE FLIGHT 


you say, if we once get to the hotel, Slipitsky, the old 
Jew, if he is still alive, will take us to the American. Do 
you know if Slipitsky is still in charge of the Dauria, 
Wassili? ” 

“ When I heard last, master, Slipitsky still lived,” said 
the mowjik. “ Am I to go with the master and the mis- 
tress and do what I can to protect them? ” 

fi< No,” said Katerin. “ You would be recognized and 
betray our identity to observers. You are to stay here 
with the old woman, and if we die, you shall be rewarded 
for your loyalty. Bring us old boots — the worst you 
can find — and cabbages to carry in a bundle, that we 
may appear to be peasants come in from the country to 
market.” 

Wassili went out and at once Katerin began plans and 
preparations for their flight from the house. By the 
time the morning sun revealed a white fog over the land- 
scape everything was in readiness. An old shawl had 
been filled with packets of rubles wrapped in old news- 
papers, and on top had been put her sable coat and other 
clothing. But before the shawl was tied up at the cor- 
ners, three cabbages had been put in on top so that they 
showed through the openings. 

The thick fog of morning gave promise that they could 
get away from the house without being observed, unless 
there were sentries close by the servants’ gate. 

V/hen they were ready to depart, Michael put on the 
ancient gray coat — that one which was padded with 
paper rubles. He belted the shabby garment about him 
with an old rope and dropped his pistol into a side pocket. 
A dirty old sheepskin cap covered his head and a long 
muffler was wound about his neck, the ends trailing over 
his back. With the muffler pulled up over his face he 
could see through the mesh of the fabric, but his face was 
concealed. He also carried a short-stocked whip with a 

137 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


dozen lashes, such as the farmers carry with them. In 
such attire it was hard to believe that he had been a gen- 
eral of the Czar and once Governor — now he was but a 
bent old moujik who thought of nothing but his crops and 
what money he could get for the few provisions he was 
carrying into the city. 

Katerin wrapped her head in an old shawl, tied a raggy 
towel across her nose against the cold, and drew the shawl 
down over her brow so that she peered out through a nar- 
row slit. Her chin was concealed in the collar of a dirty 
and torn coat which had been mended with many faded 
patches. She wore a discarded pair of Wassili’s boots, 
which had been retrieved from the wagon-shed, where they 
had been hung up to be used for hinges or pieces of leather 
for repairs. But she also took with her in the bundle 
her light shoes and her slippers. 

When she finally picked up the bundle with the cab- 
bages, she was a poor farmer’s daughter come in from the 
plains to sell her cabbages and buy salt and candles in 
the bazaar — and say a prayer at the church. 

Before they set out from the house Wassili was sent 
into the street and pottered about the casks at the small 
door in the wall to see whether the house was being closely 
watched. He came back soon and reported that he could 
see no one. 

The old woman who had been doing the cooking stood 
crying and rubbing her eyes with her red hands as she saw 
the mistress ready to go forth and face the dangers of 
the city. She cried and prayed by turns, being sure that 
disaster awaited them both. Michael quieted her by a 
plentiful handful of rubles and an assurance that if they 
made to the hotel safely, she should be provided for be- 
fore they escaped the city — but the old woman was dis- 
consolate. 

44 God go with you, master and mistress,” said Wassili, 

138 


THE FLIGHT 


as he said farewell. He stood in the kitchen door and 
watched Michael and Katerin slip through the gate, bent 
on reaching the hotel and seeking the help of the American 
officer against the menace of Zorogoff. 


XII 


HIDDEN AGAIN 

M ICHAEL trudged along stolidly through the 
dirty snow in the middle of the street, his head 
bent against the cold in peasant style. Ka- 
terin followed him, close behind, carrying the bundle which 
showed the cabbages. 

Once away from the house they felt they had a chance 
of getting to the hotel without being halted if they did 
not appear too eager. So they proceeded without haste, 
plodding along as if weary after a long walk in from the 
plains. To any one who might watch them they were ap- 
parently heedless of their surroundings and concerned 
only with where their feet were to be planted for each step, 
but they were really watchful through the cloths which 
hid their faces. It was not possible to see more than a 
hundred yards in any direction, for the fog shut them in 
and helped to conceal them from observation. 

They had not gone far before they made out the glow 
of a sentry-fire. Having planned carefully what they 
should do in various circumstances, they had no intention 
of attempting to avoid any soldiers, so Michael bore 
straight for the group about the fire. The soldiers looked 
up and scanned the approaching couple for a minute, then 
resumed their talk. Michael turned out just enough to 
pass them, lifted his head to stare at them through his 
muffler, gave them a gruff good-morning, and passed on. 
The four men about the fire supposed that the man and 
the woman must have passed through the outer cordons 
of sentries and given a satisfactory account of them- 

140 


HIDDEN AGAIN 


selves. So Katerin also walked past them with a friendly 
nod, and though she was nervous for a few minutes after 
she had turned her back on them, they said nothing. 

As the two drew in toward the business section of the 
city they passed people who peered suspiciously at them. 
There were times when Michael feared that they were be- 
ing followed, but in time the supposed followers turned 
up side streets and went about their business. 

Then a band of roistering soldiers swarmed out of a 
kabak and bore down upon the father and daughter. The 
men were tipsy after a night of drinking and were singing 
wild songs and indulging in pranks among themselves. 
They hailed Michael with pleasantries but made way for 
him, and were respectfully silent when they passed Ka- 
terin, willing enough to let peasants go on without being 
molested. Had they known that the two 44 peasants ” 
were General Kirsakoff and his daughter their attitude 
might have been entirely different. 

Katerin struggled along, the great boots tiring her, 
for they were heavy and ill-fitting, and where the snow 
was packed hard at the street crossings, the boots slipped 
under her and with the heavy bundle she found it hard to 
walk. But she knew her father could not help her if they 
were to keep up the pretense that they were peasants. 
But Michael slowed his pace at times to let Katerin come 
up with him. 

They reached the church, and stopped before it a few 
minutes to rest. They prayed and crossed themselves and 
lingered as long as they dared, for though they were both 
tired and cold, they hoped to get to the hotel before the 
fog was dispersed by the sun. They were fortunate that 
so few people were abroad. 

“ Have good heart,” muttered Michael. 44 It is not 
far now to the hotel, and the roads will be better.” 

44 The boots make me slow,” whispered Katerin. 44 But 

141 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


do not think of me. Save your strength, for I can walk 
all day. And we must not appear to be in a hurry.” 

“ It is plain that no one has suspected us,” said Mi- 
chael, peering back through the fog to make sure that 
they were not being trailed. 

“ The test will come at the hotel,” said Katerin. 
“ There we may encounter spies, so we must be most 
careful.” 

“ It is too early for many officers of the Ataman to be 
about,” said Michael. “ But there is safety in boldness.” 

They went on. Soon they passed the ruin of the great 
house which had been their home in the years while Mi- 
chael was Governor. Only one wall stood, black and 
charred and penciled with white in crevices of the timbers 
where the powdered snow had sifted in. The vacant win- 
dows yawned upon them, showing a dismal background of 
drifting fog. In that house they had lived as rulers of 
the Valley of Despair. 

In time they came to the upper end of the Sofistkaya 
where a road turned off to the prison on the hill. They 
moved down past the big store which had been looted thor- 
oughly by the Bolsheviki and the exiles who had been freed 
from the prison after the fall of the throne. The great 
windows along the street were boarded up, and a pair of 
Japanese sentries stood by the entrance. From the roof 
flew a red and white flag which marked the headquarters of 
the Japanese commander. 

Next they passed the wrecked bank. It was there that 
Michael’s partner had been slain while attempting to save 
what was left of the bank’s money after the first big raid. 
The windows were also boarded, so that in case of another 
uprising by revolutionists the building could not be used 
as a rifle-nest for snipers. 

Now there were more people in the streets. But every 
one was going about his business and paid little attention 

m 


HIDDEN AGAIN 


to Michael and Katerin. Such soldiers as they saw ig- 
nored them. They reached the bridge over the Ingoda, 
and now could see the front of the Dauria, not far ahead. 
They soon gained a position on the street opposite the 
entrance to the hotel, and crossed in the middle of the 
street after the manner of people from the country. Mi- 
chael paused before the door, and waited for Katerin to 
come up with him. 

“ This is the place,” said Michael gruffly, and then he 
pushed open the door. He was afraid that there might 
be a group of people inside, but his fears were relieved 
at finding a sleepy-eyed youth drowsing by a fire-reddened 
stove on a bench. 

Once through the door, Katerin let her bundle drop to 
the floor. It was so warm inside that she began to worry 
lest they be expected to uncover their faces, and in that 
case, if they did not find Slipitsky at once, they might be 
recognized by some casual passer-by who would carry 
the news of their arrival at the hotel to some of ZorogofF’s 
spies. 

The youth by the fire roused himself reluctantly and 
gave an angry look at the intruders. It was plain he felt 
that people so poorly dressed had no business in the hotel. 
He eyed the bundle which Katerin had put down, and then 
motioned them out of the door with an angry gesture. 

“ Get away with your cabbages ! ” he snarled. “ This 
is no public place where people can warm themselves. 
This is the best hotel in the city and only for rich people.” 

Michael bowed abjectly. “ I have come to pay to Mr. 
Slipitsky money which I owe him.” 

The youth stared the harder. The heat from the stove 
was oppressive after the cold of the streets, but Michael 
and Katerin made no move to uncover their faces. 

“ You can give me the money,” said the youth, holding 
out his hand, though he did not rise from the bench. 

143 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 Slipitsky is not here and if he were, he would have no 
time to bother with you. Come ! Hand the money to me 
and get out ! ” 

44 Slipitsky not here?” demanded Michael. 44 But he 
told me to come. You mean that he has gone away? ” 

44 1 said he is not here,” said the youth curtly. 44 1 
have other things to do besides answer questions. I’ll 
take the money.” 

44 No, no,” said Michael. 44 Mr. Slipitsky must sign 
the paper if I pay him the money — it is always so. I do 
not know who you are. I must see Mr. Slipitsky, I tell 
you.” 

The youth got to his feet and looked closely at Michael, 
as if suspicious of his purpose. He had probably been 
shrewd enough to understand that Michael did not talk 
wholly as a peasant. Having scrutinized Michael, he 
turned and looked at Katerin, but she ignored his gaze 
and looked about the walls at the dirty old posters with 
pictures of Russian ships. 

44 Go away ! ” said the youth finally. 44 1 can’t be 
troubled. This is no time to come asking for Mr. Slip- 
itsky.” 

44 But I have come twenty versts this morning to see 
Mr. Slipitsky and give him the money and I must get back 
to my cow,” insisted Michael, seeing that he was making 
an impression on the youth despite the latter’s show of 
contempt. 44 And if I have to go back to my house, it 
will be two months again before I can pay ” 

A black figure appeared at the top of the stairs while 
Michael was talking, and called down sharply, 44 Dazo ! 
What are you doing? Who is there?” 

44 1 don’t know who it is,” said Dazo. 44 Some fools 
in from the country who have lost their way and ” 

44 And is it a grand ball or something you are having 
down there with all this talk I hear, till I can’t do any- 


HIDDEN AGAIN 


thing with my figures P ” demanded the one above wrath- 
fully. 44 Who is it come to talk with you so early in the 
morning? Maybe some rich gentleman from Moscow, 
eh?” 

Michael now recognized the person above as Slipitsky, 
and knowing that they were safe at last, called out, 44 Mr. 
Slipitsky, I have come to pay you the money I owe to 
you.” 

Slipitsky leaned forward and peered down the stairs. 
44 What ! Somebody would be paying me money and that 
stupid goat of a Dazo does not know what is wanted. 
Dazo ! Is it money you would let slip away from me in 
these times? Oy! A poor man you would make of me, 
stupid one ! Tell the gentleman to come up.” 

But Michael did not wait to be urged by Dazo to go 
up. He started at once, and Katerin picked up the 
bundle and followed. Slipitsky remained standing in the 
dim light of the upper hall at the head of the stairs, peer- 
ing down, and as Michael drew near the top, waved him 
forward. 44 Come this way to my office, please. And 
you — Dazo ! Keep the door shut or I shall be beggared 
with buying wood from the Buriats. It is the house we 
wish to warm, and not all of Chita.” 

Slipitsky trotted ahead of Michael and led the way 
into a tiny room. By the time Michael entered, the old 
Jew was standing behind a desk. 

44 You have come to pay me money?” he demanded 
when Katerin had entered the room. 44 Who is it, I ask? ” 
he added, suspicious now because Michael had not uncov- 
ered his face. 

Slipitsky was old and bent himself, with long black 
whiskers, a grave and wrinkled face, small black eyes that 
seemed to grasp what they looked at. He wore a round 
black cap on his head, and about his shoulders was a long 
black cape tied in at the middle with a green cord which 

145 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


had ended its usefulness as a curtain cord. His brow was 
furrowed, and he had no teeth that were visible, but his 
face had a benevolent expression as if he found it hard 
to be stern with people. There was something about his 
manner as he stood behind the desk which suggested a 
teacher. A wrinkled little smile lurked about his eyes — 
a ghost of a smile which had dissipated perhaps under the 
cruel times that had come. His breath smelled of boiled 
onions and the same odor pervaded the close little room. 

“Who is it, I ask?” repeated Slipitsky when Michael 
made no answer but turned to close the door behind Ka- 
terin. The old Jew was on his guard at once, for he knew 
these muffled figures might be robbers or secret police sent 
by Zorogoff to arrest him. 

“ We have come to have a talk with you privately,” 
■whispered Michael. Slipitsky’s face was instantly 
screwed up with terror, and his jaw dropped. For an in- 
stant he was in something of a panic and he drew back 
into a corner, for he knew that no rude peasant would 
speak so correctly as had this stranger before him. And 
whispers always meant secrecy if not imminent danger. 

“You are not peasants!” mumbled Slipitsky. “You 
have come in here by a trick! You do not speak now as 
peasants ! Who has sent you here to make trouble for 
me in my house? ” 

Michael whipped the muffler down from his face by wav 
of answer and thrust his face forward into the light from 
the frosted window so that Slipitsky might recognize him 
without further talk. 

“ Prophets of Israel ! ” cried the Jew, suddenly relieved 
of his worry as he recognized Michael. “ You are 
dead ! ” 

“ Not yet, by the kindness of God,” whispered Michael, 
and turning to his daughter, said, “ Also Katerin Steph- 
anovna has come with me. You must hide us both, for 
146 


HIDDEN AGAIN 


we are beset by the Ataman and have fled away from our 
house to save our lives.” 

“ True enough, it is Michael Alexandrovitch, his Excel- 
lence who was Governor ! ” whispered Slipitsky as if assur- 
ing himself that he was not deceived by his eyes. He 
clapped his hands over his ears. 44 It was said that you 
w r ere both dead ! Four months ago I heard you had been, 
killed! Is it that you have risen from the dead by a 
miracle, my old friends? By the patriarchs! This is a 
sight for me ! Both of you — and dressed in poor rags 
like serfs come in from a farm to sell butter!” 

Katerin had exposed her face and smiled joyfully at 
the old Jew\ 

64 Take care or you will be heard speaking to us and 
we shall be betrayed,” warned Michael. 44 No one must 
know we are here, or ZorogofF comes ” 

44 Enough ! ” cried Slipitsky, and ran out from behind 
his desk, keys jangling in his pockets, and shot the bolt 
on the door. 44 As you say, the place is like a beehive 
with spies,” he whispered, turning back to Michael. 
44 That rascal, Dazo, below stairs is one of ZorogofF’s 
men, I know! The Cossacks made me make a place for 
him there at the door to watch — but I know he is an un- 
derground for the Ataman ! ” 

44 Then we shall be delivered,” said Michael, pulling up 
his muffler over his face again. 44 If it be already known 
to him that we are here ” 

44 We must fool him,” said Slipitsky. 44 What is the 
good of having a head if we do not use it? You must go 
out again and ” 

44 But where shall we stay?” demanded Michael, 
alarmed at the Jew’s saying they must go. To be turned 
into the streets again meant certain capture by soldiers 
of the Ataman. 

44 Please, you must hide us for our lives ! ” pleaded 

147 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Katerin. 44 If you do not hide us somewhere we shall be 
killed!” 

“ We shall all be killed! ” exclaimed Slipitsky. 44 Take 
off your covering and let me see your face again, mis* 
tress ! Ah, yes, it is you ! Can you doubt that I will not 
do what I can for old friends? Be patient.” 

44 Then we can stay ? ” asked Katerin. 44 But what of 
the spy below? Will he not reveal us?” 

44 We are desperate,” urged Michael. 44 ZorogofF has 
given us the mental torture — if he finds us again he will 
take my daughter to his palace to ” 

44 Toosh ! ” exploded Slipitsky. 44 ZorogofF is not to 
find you. I have known persecution in my day — who of 
my people have not? And in your time you were good to 
some of my friends. Ah, I never forget, my friend! I 
will hide you well. But if ZorogofF knows, then we are 
all dead together — as dead as the prophets ! That 
Ataman is a robber, Excellence ! Every week I must pay 
him money till I am beggared. Taxes, he calls it! Is 
the last kopeck from a poor man taxes, I ask? And 
every name that goes in the book he watches, for fear I 
would have a stranger under my roof who might be a spy 
against him! And that dog of a Dazo is his eyes. But 
we must fool Dazo, as you shall see.” 

44 He will know if we do not go away again,” said Ka- 
terin. 44 How are we to fool him on that? ” 

44 Toosh ! Who is to suspect that the two peasants 
who came this morning to pay me money were his Excel- 
lence the General and his daughter? It is how you get 
out again, as Dazo sees it, that gives me troubles. But 
I shall put you in rooms and no names in the book for the 
spies. So we must fool that stupid one below. W r ait 
here for me, Excellence.” 

The Jew unbolted the door with cautious fingers and 
looked down the hall. Then he went out and closed the 

148 


HIDDEN AGAIN 


door after him to look down the stairs. He saw Dazo 
lying on the bench, his back to the stove, apparently nap- 
ping. 

“ Dazo ! 99 yelled Slipitsky frantically, at the same time 
beginning a wild caper like a dance, “ Dazo ! Stop the 
two — the old man and the woman with the cabbages ! 
Stop them I say, or I am ruined for twenty rubles ! Oh, 
oh, oh ! 99 

Dazo rolled off the bench and sat up, staring about 
him in bewilderment, startled out of a sound doze by the 
screams of Slipitsky. 

“ What is the trouble P ” called the youth. “ What has 
happened now? 99 

“ Enough has happened ! ” cried Slipitsky. “ The two 
peasants who came in with the cabbages to pay me money ! 
Stop them ! Oh, I am ruined ! ” 

“ But I saw no one ! ” cried Dazo. “ I tell you no one 
has come in or gone out from this place while ” 

“ Stop the talk and run ! 99 screamed Slipitsky, wringing 
his hands in agony. “ I signed the receipt but the rubles 
they gave me were bad! Twenty rubles, I say, I lose! 
They just went out the door while you were dreaming of 
the wife you beat in Irkutsk! They just went out the 
door! Run for them and drag them back by their hair! 
Run, run — hurry ! ” 

“ You are crazy,” muttered Dazo, but he reached for 
his coat to the wooden hook on the wall, not sure now that 
the two strangers had not evaded him while he was asleep. 

“ I am crazy for my twenty rubles ! 99 raged Slipitsky, 
and Dazo pulled on his coat and dashed into the street. 

Slipitsky ran back to his little office and let himself in. 

“ Come ! 99 he commanded. “ I will put you in rooms, 
now that I have sent that fool of a Dazo down the Sofist- 
kaya looking for you.” 

Michael and Katerin followed him down the long hall. 

149 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


The J ew put a big brass key into a door, and, turning the 
lock, thrust Michael into the room and handed him the 
key. “ Keep quiet till I come with food, and if any one 
knocks do not answer. We have fooled that fox of a 
Dazo, and we shall fool the Ataman ! ” 

And the old Jew put his fingers to his lips against 
the thanks which Michael and Katerin would have ex- 
pressed, slipped out through the door and was gone, wail- 
ing through the hall about the fictitious twenty rubles 
which he had lost by the carelessness of Dazo, the spy. 


XIII 


KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN 

S LIPITSKY returned to the Kirsakoffs in an hour, 
bringing with him a small samovar, some bread, 
and a cold partridge. In his pocket he carried a 
bottle of wine for Michael. 

“ You will need something to warm and hearten you, 
Excellence, for there is not much warmth,” he said when 
Katerin had let him in. 

Michael was sitting on the bed, his boots off and his 
eyes blinking, for he had been sleeping, being worn out 
with waiting up for the return of Wassili the night before, 
the preparation for the flight, and the journey afoot into 
the city. 

“ Ah, that is good ! ” said Michael. “ I am famished, 
though I have had a good sleep — without bad dreams, 
for now T we are out of danger, old friend.” 

Slipitsky turned and looked at him in surprise. “ Out 
of danger ! Do not think my hotel is so safe, Excellence. 
Zorogoff may ask for all my rooms any day for more of 
his officers — and when he takes the notion he searches 
the place. So you are still in danger — unless you have 
a plan for escape from the city. Surely you and the 
daughter must have some scheme for getting out by an 
underground ! ” 

“ Oh, true ! ” said Michael, taking a glass of wine from 
Katerin’s hand. “ That is why wc have come — there is 
an American here ? ” 

66 Friends have sent an American officer to us,” ex- 

151 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


plained Katerin to the Jew. 44 Is he not here in the 
house? ” 

44 So-o ! ” whispered Slipitsky, betraying his amaze- 
ment. 44 It is you he has come for? And that is why so 
little has been seen of him ! Two nights he has been under 
the roof and he has not stirred out, but sits all day smok- 
ing by a samovar ! I have seen him in the hall once — a 
big fellow, maybe a colonel ! And he has paid a week in 
advance, too, but I could not read what he wrote in the 
book for Dazo. So he got word to you that he was here 
— well, that is good for you.” 

44 We have heard that he was in the city looking for 
us,” said Michael. 44 But we are not sure — we must look 
into the matter. But I doubt if Zorogoff will dare inter- 
fere with an American — or us if the American has come 
to help us.” 

Slipitsky sat down and pulled his beard thoughtfully 
while Katerin busied herself with brewing the tea at the 
samovar. 

44 It is hard for us to tell what that devil of an Ataman 
will do with anybody,” said Slipitsky. 44 But an Amer- 
ican — that is different. So your friends have done this 
for you! And the American has sent word to you that 
he is here waiting for you, eh? ” 

44 We heard it through Ilya Andreitch, a peasant, who 
came to our house last night with the news,” explained 
Katerin. 44 But when Ilya was sent here with a message 
last night he was killed. But the American did not tell 
Ilya to go to us — Ilya got news from friends of his.” 

Slipitsky opened his eyes at that, and rolled them 
thoughtfully. 44 Then the American did not send the 
word to you by Ilya? ” He was puzzled — and troubled 
again. 44 And Ilya was shot? That is bad.” 

44 We shall have to be very cautious about it,” put in 
Michael, 44 for I am afraid of a trap.” 

152 


KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN 


“ Ilya got the news from Rimsky, an old cigarette- 
seller,” said Katerin. 

“What!” exclaimed Slipitsky. “From that old liar? 
He will say anything for ten kopecks. What does he 
know about our American? Rimsky has not been here to 
see him. I tell you, there is something wrong about this 
— it may be that Rimsky is a spy.” 

“ Ah, yes ! ” said Michael, frowning thoughtfully. 
“ What if Rimsky is a spy, as you say, and Ilya was 
fooled about the American’s having come for us? That 
is what I said from the first ! ” 

“ But it may be that the American asked Rimsky about 
us before he came to the hotel at all,” said Katerin. 
“ And perhaps Rimsky gave the news to poor Ilya, and 
perhaps the news was truth. Then would it not be 
right ? ” 

“ I would like to see something that is right if Rimsky 
has had a hand in it,” grumbled Slipitsky, who was get- 
ting more worried as he considered the matter. He was 
reluctant to ask too many questions, for he supposed there 
might be angles to the situation which the Kirsakoffs 
would prefer not to discuss. 

But Katerin was becoming alarmed by Slipitsky’s 
doubts. She realized well enough that there had never 
been any proof beyond Ilya’s word that the American had 
come seeking them, and that Ilya himself had been de- 
pendent upon what Rimsky had said. But she did feel 
that there was protection of some kind for them in the 
bare fact that an American was under the same roof with 
them now, and that ZorogofF might not dare persecute 
them openly or take them from the hotel. She was de- 
termined to appeal to the American, but she wanted time 
to make her own plans. What she feared now was that 
Slipitsky, by his suspicions and doubts, would put her 
father back into his mood of dejection and discourage- 

153 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


ment. So she laughed gayly and served her father with 
tea and the cold partridge. 

“ I shall find some way of talking with the American,” 
she declared to Slipitsky. “ You must help me in some 
plan.” 

“ I can go to him and tell him that I know where the 
Kirsakoffs may be found,” suggested the Jew. “ He will 
tell me, I think, at once, if he seeks you or not.” 

“ I am not so sure,” said Katerin. “ He may not want 
to discuss a secret with you — he will be suspicious of any 
person who talks with him about us, if he is trying to 
find us unbeknownst to others in the city. He might 
deny that he seeks us, and thus we should be deprived of 
his help.” 

“ True,” said Slipitsky. “ The owl says little but 
thinks much, so what he knows is his own, which is wis- 
dom. We need not fear the American — I wish there 
were more of them here. But this old fox of a Rimsky! 
It would be well to know what he is at.” 

“ No,” said Michael. “ You cannot go running to a 
stranger and saying you know where we are hidden. And 
we cannot go to him and make ourselves known till we 
know for sure that he is seeking us. The matter will 
have to be arranged with more care.” 

“ Yes, Excellence, the wolf knows the forest and its 
ways,” said the Jew. “ We must be wise about it, for 
there is no tax on wisdom. It would be well for me to 
bring Rimsky to the house and question him about what 
he knows — and what he said to Ilya.” 

“ You say you do not trust Rimsky,” said Katerin. 
“ You say he is a liar — and may be a spy for the Ata- 
man. Even if the American asked Rimsky about us, 
Rimsky might lie about it — and even if he tells the truth, 
whatever he says we will mistrust it. And we must be 
careful that we do not set his tongue wagging in the city. 
154 


KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN 

Till we have thought more about it, we must be most 
cautious.” 

“ Then shall I ask the American about it, mistress ? 99 
asked the Jew. 

“ No, thank you — I shall go and see the American 
myself.” 

“ See the American yourself ! ” gasped Michael in aston- 
ishment. 

“ Yes, I shall see him,” replied Katerin calmly. “ That 
is the simplest and best way to learn what we want to 
know.” 

“ That is sensible,” agreed Slipitsky. 

“ You mean that you will go and tell him who you 
are? 99 demanded Michael, his horror intensifying at the 
idea the more he realized that Katerin meant what she 
was saying. 

“ He may know who I am when he sees me,” said Ka- 
terin. 

“ It must not be done, my daughter,” said Michael, his 
agitation only growing. “We can trust no one, espe- 
cially not a strange man who comes from whom we know 
not. This is no time to be rash, and I cannot let you put 
yourself into danger.” 

“ If this American has come seeking Michael Kirsakoff 
and his daughter, will he not have descriptions of us? 
And if he is not seeking us, how is he to know who I am? 
I shall not tell him my name, you may be assured of that, 
unless he knows me — or unless he tells me that he seeks 
us. So what can the danger be, my father? ” 

“ There is some truth in what you say,” admitted 
Michael, as he resumed eating the partridge. “ If he 
knows you, he knows, and that would mean he has come 
from friends. But if he does not recognize you, and he 
does not tell you that he is seeking us, what have you 
learned? And how are you to go talking with a man } t ou 
155 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


do not know? I tell you you must not take risks on what 
Ilya has said! ” 

44 That is wisdom,” assented the Jew T , nodding his head 
slowly. 44 You must always test the ice before you walk 
upon it, else you will find yourself in the river with the 
fish.” 

44 Tell me, where is the room of the American? ” asked 
Katerin. 

44 The other way — down at the end of the hall with 
windows that look up the Sofistkaya, mistress.” 

44 Can you put us in rooms near him? ” 

44 Yes, mistress, I could. When Dazo goes out later in 
the day, it can be accomplished secretly. Is it that you 
intend to watch the American? You will see little of 
him if he keeps to his room as he has.” 

“What good would it do us to watch him?” asked 
Michael. 44 It would tell us nothing to see him going 
and coming.” 

44 No,” said Katerin. 44 But I wish to be near him for 
protection in case the Ataman’s officers come here. Now, 
have you a servant for us who can be trusted not to talk 
about us ? ” 

44 Yes, mistress — a sister of my cousin. She waits 
upon some of the Ataman’s officers who live in the house. 
It is she who will bring you your samovars and your food. 
She is safe — not too much sense and little to say to any 
one.” 

44 Then this is my plan,” said Katerin. 44 If you will 
contrive to put us near the American officer, the next thing 
will be to take care that when the American rings for a 
samovar the girl does not take it to him, but brings it to 
us. And I shall carry the samovar to him. He, thinking 
I am but a samovar girl, may talk with me and I may learn 
if he seeks among the people of the city for a man by the 
name of Kirsakoff.” 


156 


KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN 


“A Kirsakoff a servant! You, Katerin Stephanovna, 
a samovar girl in this hotel ! How can you think of such 
a thing? ” cried Michael. 

Katerin laughed merrily and tossed her head, already in 
a mood for the plan which she had evolved. 44 I would 
not be a samovar girl because I play at it, my father,” 
she said. 44 What is it but fun? Who can help the Kir- 
sakoff s better than God and themselves?” 

44 But I say you are not to be a servant ! ” objected 
Michael. 

44 Better a living servant than a dead aristocrat,” re- 
plied Katerin. 44 What harm can come of it? Is it not 
wise to be known here as a servant? We have come here 
as peasants and wish to be known as such for safety. 
Look at my old black dress ! I have on my slippers — 
— see — and I can let down my hair. How will an 
American know that I am not a samovar girl — unless, as 
we have said, he recognizes me at once as a Kirsakoff? 
And I can talk with him, perhaps. He will not be afraid 
of saying things to a girl who is a servant which he 
would keep from others.” 

44 And what then? ” asked Michael with a frown. 44 Do 
you think that this American is going about telling his 
secret business to any samovar girl? Fi ! You must 
take him for a fool before you have seen him!” 

44 I am afraid that he will know you are not a servant, 
if I am allowed to say my opinion, mistress,” said the Jew 
dolefully. 

44 But he is an American,” persisted Katerin. 44 He 
probably knows little Russian. But what I wish to 
learn at once is whether he will know me for a Kirsakoff. 
And if he does not recognize me, and yet sees that I am 
not of the servant class, all the more reason why he should 
suspect that I might know the Kirsakoffs. So he might 
ask me if I know them. Why should he not ask a samovar 

157 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


girl, when he has asked old Rimsky for General Kirsakoff ? 
Do you think I will only take his food to him and then 
run away without a word?” 

44 And what else can you do? ” asked her father. 

44 1 shall talk to him — of the weather, and the troubles 
that have come upon the people. And if he does not tell 
me why he has come to Chita, I shall try and learn it from 
him. Can he speak Russian, do you know, Mr. Slip- 
itsky ? 99 

44 He must speak a little,” said the Jew. 44 He is alone, 
and he has made his way about. He talked with Dazo, 
who knows nothing but Russian, the stupid ox. But the 
American wrote in the book in English and I could make 
nothing of it — just a scrawl.” 

44 Then he will be able to talk a little with me,” said 
Katerin. 44 At least, enough so that I may gain his con- 
fidence and be able to talk with him in a way of gossip 
about General Kirsakoff who was Governor here.” 

44 By the Prophets ! ” said Slipitsky. 44 The mistress 
Katerin Stephanovna should be in the secret police, Ex- 
cellence ! It is all a good plan, and the mistress should be 
allowed to have her way in it.” 

44 1 wish there were some other way to go about it than 
this business of being a samovar girl,” said Michael as 
he lighted a cigarette. 44 We shall know how wise it all 
is when we see what we shall learn by it. But I shall not 
prevent its being done, for we are in danger enough, and 
making danger for you, my friend.” 

44 Think not of my danger,” said the Jew. 

44 Then I shall do it,” said Katerin. 44 We cannot de- 
lay, and we cannot take outsiders, like this man Rimsky, 
into our confidence. Our safety now depends upon keep- 
ing secret where we are, and upon making the best of 
such time as we have. Who knows when the Ataman 
will learn where we have gone from the house? And you 
158 


KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN 

shall be well paid for your help, Mr. Slipitsky, and for 
what you have done.” 

“ Ah, it is not for money,” said the Jew. u When are 
you to begin as samovar girl, mistress? I must make the 
arrangements and be sure that everything is ready.” 

“ The morning is the best time for me to go to the 
American,” said Katerin. “ I shall take his morning 
samovar to him, the girl bringing it to me first. And 
I shall go on serving him till I have learned what I need. 
And if he should not tell me before he is to leave the city, 
I shall tell him that we wish to escape the city under his 
protection. Surely, we need not be afraid of an 
American ! ” 

“ No,” agreed Michael. “ He cannot be from enemies 
if he is not from friends. But it is best to learn what we 
can first, and you must have a good rest before you begin 
a battle of wits.” 

The Jew left them again, and later in the day he put 
Michael and Katerin into two rooms next to the room in 
which Peter was resting and planning how he should deal 
with Michael Kirsakoff if he could be found in Chita. 


XIV 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 

I T was nine o’clock by his wrist-watch when Peter got 
out of bed that morning. From what he could see 
of the city through the frosted windows, it was a 
cold gray day, with the position of the sun above the 
ridge of hills marked by a yellow blotch through the scat- 
tering fog. 

The room was cold and he dressed rapidly. He rang 
at once for a samovar, and began shaving. He had made 
up his mind to make definite efforts this day to trace 
Michael Kirsakoff, for he was now rested from his journey 
on the train. He thought of Rimsky. It might be wise 
to go in and see the graybeard again, and pick up once 
more the conversation and the gossip. In time Rimsky 
would be willing to talk more freely, Peter was sure. 

The samovar girl was slower than usual in coming. 
Peter rang again — three times, and with as much insist- 
ence as he could put into the pressure of the button. 
He finished shaving, and had a mind to go out to the 
dreary dining room and see what could be done about 
getting some hot tea there. It was apparent that the 
stupid and slatternly girl who had been serving him could 
not be depended upon for prompt service — and he was 
beginning to suffer from the cold. 

When he had decided that he should wait no longer, 
there came a knock at the door. He opened it — and 
stared! For instead of the peasant girl who had been 
serving him since his arrival at the hotel, there was a tall 
young woman with a beautiful face — a patrician face, 

160 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


the face of a woman of noble lineage ! And he was 
startled, though he was too well trained in his business 
to reveal his amazement to her. Still, he paused for an 
instant, not sure that she had not mistaken the room and 
had not come in response to his ringing. He looked at 
her over the top of the big brass samovar which she bore 
on a tray before her, and her keenly intelligent blue eyes 
met his with a self-possessed and frank gaze. He half 
expected her to mutter some apology and go away. In- 
stead, she stood gazing at him, waiting for him to make 
way for her, and the trace of a smile came into her eyes, 
as if she felt like saying to him, “ Here is your samovar ! 
How do you expect to get it if you stand all morning in 
the doorway ? 99 

Peter bowed slightly, and said good-morning with an 
effort to be casual. In the second which he had stood 
stock still looking at her, a suspicion had crossed his 
mind — this well-born woman had not taken the place of 
his unkempt serving girl without good reason. It was 
quite possible, and quite in the Russian style, to send an 
attractive woman to serve him and spy upon him. Very 
well ! He decided that he should play a little at that game 
himself. 

“ Good-morning, master,” Katerin replied modestly, 
and came through the door when Peter stepped aside to 
admit her. She smiled as a matter of duty, and went 
about her business of placing the samovar and the break- 
fast things on the table. 

Peter went before the big mirror on the wall between 
the windows and pretended to be combing his hair. He 
wished to conceal from the new samovar girl his close ob- 
servation of her, and he could watch her image in the 
mirror without appearing to pay any special attention to 
her. 

Katerin wore her old black dress. Peter knew at once 

161 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


that it was not a cast-off garment such as might be given 
to a serving girl by a woman of the upper class — it was 
obviously her own garment, cut and made especially for 
her. Though the material was old, he knew it for fine 
stuff, probably imported. A real American might have 
been deceived into the belief that this woman was nothing 
but a servant; Peter, however, knew that such a delicate 
face, such fine features, such a carriage of a proud head 
w T ere to be found only among the nobility of his native 
country. If she had been sent to watch him, he knew 
that whoever had sent her could not know that he was a 
native Russian — it was presumed that he was an 
American so unfamiliar with Russia as to be easily misled. 

He smiled as he watched her. She handled the crude 
dishes as if they were of the most fragile china or of 
fine glass. She put down the heavy blue sugar-urn 
gently; she transferred the tea-glass, which was made 
from the bottom of a bottle, from the tray to the table 
with infinite care. She laid out the old brass spoon be- 
side the heavy plate on the dingy cloth as if instead of 
being brass it were of the finest silver. 

He noted her hands. The fingers were slender — and 
clean. The nails were polished. Her black hair, braided 
down her back and tied with a bit of velvet black ribbon, 
had a sheen which indicated the care which had been 
given to it. And the low collar of her gown revealed the 
fine texture of her skin. 

Having arranged the dishes on the table, Katerin stood 
with her back to Peter, hands on hips and watching the 
teapot atop the samovar. This was all in startling con- 
trast to the abrupt manner of the other girl, who had 
dumped the things down upon the table and departed. 
This new girl seemed suspiciously solicitous about the com- 
fort of the American — and was possessed of plenty of 
time for lingering in the rooms of guests! 

162 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Peter walked to the table, and sat down with his back 
to the window. She remained standing before the 
samovar in thoughtful attitude, disregarding him. He 
saw that her face showed traces of strain — a pallor 
which was not natural to her skin and a gauntness about 
her eyes which gave her a sad and melancholy expression. 
Presently she picked up the blue sugar-urn as if to put 
it better within his reach. 

“ Ah ! ” said Peter, rubbing his hands and smiling up 
at her. “ On cold mornings like this one the song of 
the samovar makes pretty music in our ears ! ” 

It was an old saying of his father’s — and Peter spoke 
the Russian words with casual rapidity, for he wanted to 
see what she would think of him — an American who spoke 
Russian as only one born under the Czar could speak it. 

The sugar-urn slipped from Katerin’s fingers and 
crashed down upon the metal tray, spilling the sugar. 
And he heard her give a startled gasp. A look of utter 
astonishment came into her face and she gave him a 
frightened stare. The Russian words had put her into 
a swift panic — she was more than astonished — she was 
actually alarmed at hearing her own language flow so 
freely from the lips of a man she supposed to be an 
American. 

“Have I frightened you?” he asked, looking at her 
with feigned concern, and speaking gently. “ Do you 
fear the sound of your own language? 99 

“ You are Russian,” she said simply, but with the 
faintest trace of a question in the words. 

“ Oh, no, I am an American,” he replied easily. 
(c True, I am of Russian blood.” He smiled at her, and 
she looked away from him swiftly, renewing her efforts 
to save the sugar which had been spilled from being wet 
in the bottom of the tray. He saw her fine white skin 
show a sudden flush of color that rose from her throat 

163 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


and mounted slowly to her cheeks, tinting the pale skin 
under her eyes. He thought now that she was more 
beautiful than he had at first realized. 

“ Is it because I am Russian that you show fear? ” he 
went on. 

She tossed her head a trifle, as if in defiance. “ I do 
not fear you,” she said lightly, and gave him a shy smile. 

“ I would be sorry if you did.” 

“ It is very pleasant — that we may speak to each 
other and understand. I was surprised — yes. Now, 
there is your sugar, and I must go.” 

“No, please!” he objected as she turned as if to go 
to the door. “ Everybody is surprised to hear the Amer- 
ican officer speak real Russian, but no one stops to talk 
with me — and I am hungry for talk — talk in Russian. 
I have only just come, and the other girl would say only, 
6 Yes, master ’ and 4 No, master,’ and run away fright- 
ened, just as you are about to do.” 

“ But I am not frightened,” she said, pretending to 
bother with the teapot on the top of the samovar. 

“ But just now, at hearing your own language, you 
dropped the sugar dish. Is it not true? ” 

Peter was joking her now in an effort to get on friendly 
terms with her. But she still appeared a bit distrait, 
as if she had not yet recovered from the shock of hearing 
a foreigner speaking the Czar’s Russian. 

“ Yes, I was startled,” admitted Katerin, and now 
smiled at him frankly, though she gave him a searching 
look — the silver bars on his shoulders, the buttons of his 
blouse, the circle of brown tape at the cuffs of his tunic. 
66 And you would be surprised, American, if a samovar 
girl should speak to you in perfect English.” 

“ Probably I should,” said Peter. “ As it was, you 
surprised me this morning — - 1 was expecting the other 
girl to come.” 


164 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


She said nothing to that. She realized now that it 
would be foolish to expect him to think of her as of the 
servant class, and had already given up all ideas of mak- 
ing a pretense. 

And as for Peter, he was beginning to abandon his 
theory that she was a spy. There was probably some 
other reason for her being a servant. He was chiefly con- 
cerned now with making her a friend, for the thought 
crossed his mind that this girl might be able to give him 
information about Kirsakoff, though the subject of the 
former Governor would have to be approached with great 
caution. 

“ The other girl could not come this morning,” she said. 
“ But I shall not always bring your samovar — my work 
is on the other floors.” 

“ I hope you will, though it is too bad that you have 
to work as a samovar girl.” This was direct angling for 
enlightenment as to why she was serving as a samovar 
girl — he wanted to give her a chance to set herself right 
with him. If she did happen to be a spy, it would make it 
easy for her to improvise a history for herself and so 
find it easy to talk with him and deflect his suspicions — 
if she thought he was suspicious of her true status. He 
knew it was quite possible that she was a refugee who had 
turned “ worker ” for protection against the wrath of 
the masses toward the wealthy. 

“ People once rich are now poor,” said Katerin, and 
looked at him significantly. She was hoping that he 
might take this hint, and by a closer scrutiny, recognize 
her as KirsakofPs daughter. In that case, he would make 
it known to her that he had come from friends to find her 
and her father. But, as a matter of fact, Peter had for- 
gotten that Kirsakoff had a daughter — except for a 
little girl. 

“And it is necessary now that you work?” he asked. 

165 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ It is most necessary. I must have food and shelter 
by some method.” 

“You are working here — as a samovar girl — for 
food and shelter? Is it as bad as that with you? ” 

“ Why not I as well as others ? ” she asked simply, with 
a shrug of her shoulders. “ And others have fared worse. 
What better could I do while I wait — for friends — to 
send help to me — and my people ? ” 

Once more she gave him that steady gaze which she 
thought would add meaning to her words, but though his 
face was serious, not a glimmer of understanding did she 
see in his eyes. She thought it strange that if he had 
been sent to rescue her father and herself he could not 
grasp the meaning behind her words and her glances. 
Surely, he would have been shown a picture of her, or 
have a description of her from friends which would cause 
him to recognize the daughter of Michael Kirsakoff easily. 
There were not so many young women of her age, educa- 
tion, and appearance in Chita, she knew. 

She turned her eyes from his, and colored again, em- 
barrassed by having looked so long and steadily into the 
eyes of a stranger. She drew him a glass full of hot 
water from the samovar for a fresh glass of tea and by 
this means covered her sense of having appeared too bold 
with a strange man. 

“So you are waiting for help to come to you, eh?” 
asked Peter. He pitied her — yet he was still reserving 
his judgment about her. It was possible that her story 
was only to mislead him as to her real motive in bringing 
the samovar to his room. 

Katerin smiled sadly. “ Yes, I wait for a chance to 
get away from the city. We have sent letters to friends 
in Harbin and in Vladivostok — weeks ago, months ago. 
We are not sure that they got the letters, for we have had 
no answer. Yet we hope some one will come to help us. 

166 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Perhaps — they will send some one to us,” she added with 
special significance and looked at him again with intent 
eyes. 

Peter was puzzled now. He saw that she was trying 
to make him understand something without putting it into 
words — it might be that she was seeking to learn for 
some other person what his object was in coming to Chita. 
Or he had been mistaken for some other person who was 
expected. 

“Why do you not go to Vladivostok yourself?” he 
asked, evading saying anything that bore upon what he 
was thinking. “ The trains are running. Is it lack of 
money that prevents you from going? ” 

“No, not money,” she said, and then with a glance at 
the door, she lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “ Do 
you not know about the Ataman Zorogoff who is in this 
city? ” 

“ Yes, I have heard of him. I hope to know more about 
him. The Americans want to help the people. Perhaps 
you will tell me about Zorogoff.” 

Peter thought that was enough for him to say about 
Zorogoff. He did not care to commit himself on the sub- 
ject of the Ataman — did not wish to betray any an- 
tagonism toward the Mongol ruler. The Ataman was a 
man to be wary about, and Peter had no intention of tak- 
ing this girl into his confidence as to where he might stand 
in any matter which involved Zorogoff. 

Katerin suddenly clenched her hands. “ Do the 
Americans think they can help us if they remain in Vladi- 
vostok?” she demanded with passion. Then she lapsed 
back into her easy manner as suddenly as she had blurted 
out her feelings, and turned as if she would go. 

“ Please wait ! ” he commanded. “ This is something 
that it would be well for me to know.” Then dropping 
his voice as she paused and looked back at him over her 

167 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


shoulder, he went on, “ You mean that the people are 
oppressed by the Ataman Zorogoff? 99 

She returned and stood before the samovar, as if set- 
tling in her mind what her answer should be. 

“ I think I had better not talk about the Ataman,” she 
said finally. “ He is not a safe subject for discussion by 
a poor and helpless samovar girl.” 

“ Tell me,” he urged, bending forward and speaking 
confidentially, “ are you in danger from the Ataman? 99 

She gave him that quick look again, as if she were not 
quite sure that he could be trusted. “ It is better for 
me not to talk of the Ataman — but I am a samovar girl 
here for my own safety — till some one comes for me — 
and my father .” 

Once more he understood that he was to get some mean- 
ing from her words. He noticed that a sudden change had 
come over her — there was a softer look in her eyes, as 
if she had abandoned all thought of using any artifice with 
him and was on the verge of giving him her confidence. 
Her eyes seemed to burn with a kindlier light for him. 

Peter was right about Katerin. She was at that time 
strongly tempted to tell him who she was. She watched 
him with a quivering expectancy, waiting for him to whis- 
per to her that he was the man who had been sent by her 
friends to find her and Michael KirsakofF. But when he 
said nothing and observed her without any sign that he 
had comprehended her meaning in words or looks, she 
felt a fear that perhaps she had gone too far in her at- 
tempts to enlighten him as to her identity. 

“Do you live here — in Chita?” he asked. It was in 
his mind that this was a good time to test her as to whether 
she might have any knowledge of KirsakofF. He realized 
that if she had her home in Chita, she was of the class 
who would know the former Governor. 

Katerin’s lips moved as if to reply, but she did not 

168 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


speak. She had recovered her caution. She wanted to 
evade the answer, for once more she had built up a mental 
resistance against him and was beginning to be afraid. 
She realized that if she pretended to be a stranger in the 
city she would defeat his purpose if he had really come 
from friends, by misleading him. If she told him that she 
was a stranger in the city he would be thrown entirely 
off the track and never suspect that she was Katerin Ste- 
phanovna Kirsakoff. 

“ I have been in Chita long enough to know it well,” 
she said. “ And I have been here long enough to be will- 
ing to go, too.” 

“ Then you have friends here,” he said. “ You must 
know many of the people — the wealthy people, that is.” 

“ They are almost all gone — or dead. Most of them 
are in Vladivostok, or in hiding here. But we cannot get 
away now — it is impossible for us to leave by ourselves. 
We wait for our friends — to send ns help." That should 
be plain enough for him, she thought. 

“ How would they send help? ” he asked. “ You mean 
that they would send soldiers? ” 

“ Perhaps they would send a man who would be able 
to take us away from the city — they might even send a 
— foreigner. A man Zorogoff would not dare to hinder 
from going with us.” 

Peter now had full understanding of her searching looks, 
her broad hints about help, and her surprise at finding 
that he spoke perfect Russian though supposed to be an 
American. Also, he saw her reason for coming to him as 
a samovar girl — unless she was really a spy delving into 
his object for being in the city. 

“ I am sorry I have been so stupid,” he said. “ You 
must think I am a fool — but I am not a messenger sent 
by your friends.” 

Katerin was standing at the far end of the table from 

169 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


him, close by the door. He saw her turn pale, either with 
sudden fear of him, or great disappointment that she had 
revealed to him that she was expecting a messenger. She 
was calm enough, but he saw that his admission that he 
was not the expected messenger, chilled her with some 
unaccountable terror. 

It was this that had terrified Katerin: This American 
now denied that he was seeking her father — but where 
had Ilya gotten the word that an American was hunting 
for Michael Kirsakoff? And this American was really a 
Russian! Could it be that instead of being a friend, or 
from friends, he was in reality an enemy? What could 
this man want with her father? she asked herself. He 
could not have come from friends, else he would have easily 
recognized her. And if he had asked Rimsky for the 
whereabouts of Michael Kirsakoff and was willing that 
the old cigarette-seller and Ilya Andreitch the pig-killing 
moujik should know that he was seeking Kirsakoff, why 
was he not willing that she should know of his quest? 
She saw that he was willing to ally himself with peasants 
but withheld the object of his coming to the city from 
aristocrats. She saw that she had failed in misleading 
him as to her class. He gave his secrets to peasants — 
thus he must be an enemy to her father and herself ! 

She laughed suddenly, as if all that had passed between 
them had been a joke. She must change her tactics and 
get his secret. She must not arouse his suspicions as to- 
her identity now, but baffle him in every way, for if he 
were not a friend he must be a new menace to her and her 
father. 

44 Of course you are not the messenger,” she said, and 
returning to the samovar, took down the teapot, shook it 
swingingly and looked into it. Her face was flushed 
again under the excitement of what she had discovered 
about him. 44 Come ! Have another glass of tea, please 

170 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


— master /” She gave a joking twist to the last word, 
and threw back her head and laughed gayly. 

“ But it is too bad if you have been expecting a mes- 
senger,” said Peter. 

“ Oh, it is nothing. Everybody in Siberia is waiting to 
hear from friends! You Americans! You are too seri- 
ous about everything — what does it matter if you be 
not the man? ” 

But Peter was serious. He almost wished now that he 
had led her to believe that he was a messenger. For he 
was afraid that she would go away and he would see her 
no more. He wanted to see her again and again, and in 
time bring their conversation to the subject of the former 
governor and get from her some information as to where 
he might look for KirsakofF. 

44 Is it true that you are in danger? ” he asked. 44 That 
you must get away from the city? ” 

44 We are all in danger here,” she retorted. 44 Trust, 
no one — the city is full of spies, and you must be care- 
ful what you say — even what you say to me.” 

44 But I think I could trust you,” he said conciliatingly. 

44 Please don’t trust me. I would rather not have any 
secrets. The greatest danger in this city is in having a 
secret which some person wants. I prefer to know noth- 
ing and be safe.” 

44 Perhaps I could be of help to you,” said Peter, hav- 
ing an idea that by offering protection he could gain her 
confidence and learn from her where Kirsakoff might be 
found. 44 1 am an American officer, and if I should em- 
ploy you for my government no one would dare threaten 
your safety.” 

44 Perhaps you could help me,” she said thoughtfully. 
44 But I know little about you — what part of Russia are 
you from? ” 

Peter hesitated. It would not do to tell her he had 

171 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


been a boy in Chita for that news would start gossip, and 
he would be under suspicion at once if Kirsakoff were 
killed. He drank some tea before he answered the ques- 
tion. 

“ Oh, I have not been in Russia for years — I left Kiev 
when I was a boy. Come! What is your name? We 
must be friends if we are going to go into these matters.” 

“What is your name? ” she countered. 

“ Call me Peter — that is my name.” 

“ Peter ! That is no name for a Russian. What are 
your other names ? ” 

“ Peter Petrovitch.” 

She laughed at him with a touch of saucy insouciance, 
and lifted her shoulders as if she put small faith in the 
name. “What is your generic name?” 

“ Gordon, but I hoped you might call me Peter Petro- 
vitch — it has been many years since I heard it thus. 
You make me forget that I am an American, I, who am 
Russian.” 

She turned toward the door. “ I am afraid that I 
must go now,” she said. 

He rose from his chair and moved after her. “ But 
you have not given me your name.” 

“ Call me Vashka.” 

“ But that is no name for a Russian,” he insisted. 
“ The generic name, please.” 

“ That will do for now — it is good enough for a sam- 
ovar girl.” She moved toward the door, but lingeringly, 
as if she had other things she would say but refrained from 
saying them at this time. 

“ Ah, but I know you are not really a samovar girl,” 
he said seriously. “ You are a lady, and I shall be happy 
to help you and serve you if it is in my power. Promise 
that you will come back to me.” 

“ Perhaps I shall come,” she replied, and smiled over 

172 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


her shoulder at him. She felt unable to cope with him 
at this time, knowing that Ilya had said he sought her 
father. She knew that before she talked with him further 
she must consider the matter and consult with the saga- 
cious Slipitsky. “ You are very kind,” she said, smiled 
again, and went through the door. 

Peter bowed as she disappeared, looking back at him 
from the hall as if fearful that he would run after her 
and see where she went. But he closed the door, and stood 
smiling at himself in the big mirror — smiling over his 
thoughts of the amazing samovar girl he had found in 
Chita ! 


XV 


THE TRAP SHUTS 

S LIPITSKY was with Michael when Katerin returned 
from Peter’s room. The old Jew was consumed 
with curiosity about the American, and worried 
for the safety of his guests, for he sensed menace in the 
stranger. Schooled all his life in the secret intrigues 
among exiles and living in an atmosphere of spies and 
counter spies, he had an astounding mental perception 
in devious ways. The fact that Rimsky and Ilya, two 
peasants, had knowledge of the American which pointed 
to some hidden purpose in his arrival in the city, was 
proof enough to Slipitsky that something was seriously 
wrong. The chasm of caste in Siberia prevents an of- 
ficer from dealing with the lower class of peasants — 
unless he is using them for an advantage against his own 
class. To the Russian, an officer comes from the upper 
classes, so the idea that Peter could have ever been a 
peasant was beyond the comprehension of Slipitsky or 
Kirsakoff. 

Katerin slipped into the room quickly and fastened the 
bolt of the door. Slipitsky rose from his chair and 
turned to her inquiringly, but she put her finger to her 
lips for caution. Michael was sitting on the bed. He 
saw the trouble in Katerin’s face, and knew that she could 
not bring the good news which they had hoped for — that 
the American had come from friends. 

“What is the w r ord? ” whispered Slipitsky. “What 
says the American ? ” 


174 


THE TRAP SHUTS 


“ He is a Russian ! ” said Katerin. 

“ Holy Saints 1 ” gasped Michael, astounded, and his 
head began to shake with excitement. 

“ Russian ! ” exclaimed Slipitsky, looking at Katerin as 
if what she had said exceeded all probability. “ How 
could he be a Russian? Is it that he has come to my 
house dressed as an American and is really a spy ? ” 

“ All I know is that he speaks the Czar’s Russian,” said 
Katerin. “ He has not come from friends,” and then she 
went on and hastily told them how she had given Peter 
every hint that she dared, so that he might understand 
who she was, and that he had denied being sent to Chita 
to help anybody. 

“ Then that fool of an Ilya was lying ! ” said Michael 
wrathfully. “ He has made fools of us ! We came here 
expecting to find a dove and we have found a hawk. Ilya 
had sand in his brains ! It was all done to fool us and 
get money ! An American who is a Russian — what good 
can he do us? ” 

“Hah! A riddle!” said the Jew, and he rubbed his 
hands and drew himself a fresh glass of tea. 44 Now we 
must consider what it all means, Excellence ! The rope 
is tangled and we must find the end of it ! 99 

Michael sat for a few minutes with his eyes screwed up 
against the light from the window, his wrinkled old face 
twitching nervously. Presently he got up and began to 
pace the floor in his stockinged feet, hands behind his 
back, his shoulders bent forward in dejection. His weak 
knees bent beneath him as he shuffled about. His body 
quivered with excitement and his eyes glowed as if he 
were racked by a fever. 

Katerin sat down by Slipitsky, and stared at the floor 
in reflection, seeking to piece together in her mind again 
the whole time of her visit to Peter and to gauge the value 
of what both of them had said. If only Ilya were still 

175 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


alive and could be questioned as to how he had learned 
that the American wanted to find her father! 

“ He knew at once that I was not of the servant class,” 
said Katerin. 

“ Qnly a Russian could do that,” mused Slipitsky. “ It 
is all very strange,” and he wagged his head slowly and 
thoughtfully as he puzzled over it. “ Did he tell you why 
he had come to Chita at all? — did he say nothing of his 
mission to this place? ” 

“ Nothing. Yet if Ilya spoke the truth, Rimsky was 
told why the American had come. Why does he trust a 
moujih and hide his purpose from me?” 

“ It would not be wise to have too many in the secret,” 
said the Jew. " He knew you were not what you pre- 
tended to be, and was careful. The man who rides a tiger 
cannot get off, and this Peter Petrovitch from Kiev is not 
too trusting. I give him credit for that, though we would 
like to know his business.” 

“ He is an enemy ! ” declared Michael. 

“ Then we shall know in good time,” said the Jew. 
“ An awl cannot be hidden in a sack.” 

“A Russian from America — the worst of all,” said 
Michael into Slipitsky’s ear, as the old general came and 
hung over the Jew’s chair. “ They come back here from 
America with their accursed ideas of liberty ! And what 
do they do ? Kill the Czar and ruin the country — turn 
it over to the Mongols ! Old friend, we have an enemy 
on our hands who is a greater danger than the Ataman. 
And we have brought trouble to you and your house.” 

“ We are all in the same boat, Excellence. If we lose 
our wits, we are lost. I am no worse for your coming, 
and you are no worse. The thing to do is to weigh and 
consider — and in time settle with this fellow who calls 
himself an American officer but hunts with peasants.” 

Katerin was discouraged. She had set her hopes on 

176 


THE TRAP SHUTS 


the American’s coming to solve their problems and relieve 
them of the danger from the Ataman. But now they 
were involved in a new puzzle, and could not see their way 
out of it. For more than two years she and her father 
had managed to save themselves, but now it seemed that 
all their bravery, all their devices and stratagems had but 
pushed them further into a trap. Life had become an 
intolerable nightmare, and the trifles of daily existence 
had become a burden. It seemed easier to die than to 
go on with the struggle against the madness which had 
come over their world. 

Michael went roaming about the room again while 
Katerin and Slipitsky sat in thought. He gazed ab- 
stractedly at the furniture, as if he expected to find in it 
some astounding quality which he had never noticed be- 
fore. After he had walked about in this way for several 
minutes, he returned to his position between the chairs of 
his daughter and the old Jew, and leaning down between 
them, whispered, “ We must rid ourselves of this man ! 
We cannot live here under his nose and wait for him to 
strike. He is a Russian hunting me. That is no new 
thing — but it proves he wants me for no good. We must 
poison him ! ” 

“ No, no ! ” said Katerin, taking her father’s arm and 
pulling him toward her. “ We cannot kill a man just be- 
cause Ilya said Rimsky told him the stranger was seek- 
ing you — we must learn from Rimsky what we can, as 
much of the truth as we can get.” 

“ I say that, also,” declared Slipitsky. 66 It must be 
done. I shall send for Rimsky and question him so that 
he will not know the reason for my questions.” 

“ What ! You will let Rimsky know that we are here? ” 
asked Michael, alarmed at the idea. 

“ No, Excellence. But I can comb him for what he 
knows. A few drinks of wine and he will be as putty in 

177 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


my hands. You must trust to me to solve this riddle.” 

“ Then it is well,” said Michael. 44 But I am resolved 
upon one thing — we must do away with this American, 
no matter what Rimsky says.” 

44 1 shall send for Rimsky at once,” said the Jew, ris- 
ing and going to the door. 44 Be careful till I have had 
a talk with the old liar.” And with a gesture of caution, 
Slipitsky drew the bolt and disappeared in the hall. 

Katerin secured the bolt, and sat down again, her hands 
clenched in her lap. She felt that she was at the end of 
her resistance. Yet she went on trying to think of some 
way in which to learn from Peter the truth of why he 
had come to Chita. There was no reason to fear him, 
so long as he did not know who she was. And there was 
a chance that the talk that he had come for her father 
w T as all foolishness, or a shrew T d scheme to play upon the 
fears of herself and her father and gain money. In that 
case, she saw that the American might be a protection — 
that he might take them from the city. 

44 1 shall go back to him and talk,” she said to her 
father. 

44 You shall go back to poison his samovar,” said Mi- 
chael. 44 1 have a feeling that this man knows already 
who you are, and is blinding your eyes. You must end 
his life ! ” 

44 Would you have me murder an innocent ma*i on the 
word of Ilya? ” she asked, making talk now only to keep 
her father’s mind engaged and prevent him from the de- 
spondency which threatened him. 

44 This man is an enemy ! ” insisted Michael. 44 We can- 
not risk such a menace. We have trouble enough with 
the Ataman, and I speak only for your own safety. Oh, 
Katerin Stephanovna ! I care nothing for my own life ! 
It is you I would save. I would sell the days I have left 
to live if they could be turned into years for you, my 

178 


THE TRAP SHUTS 

daughter. I would die this minute, if I could loan you 
life ! ” 

The old general put his hand on her head and caressed 
her gently, his eyes full of tears and his body shaking 
with his sorrow for her. 

“ I know, little father,” she whispered, taking his hands 
in hers and kissing the withered skin. “ But your life is 
dear to me — so dear that I would do as you say to save 
you to me. But I cannot believe that this young man in- 
tends to harm us. He is a Russian, true enough, but 
have you lost faith in all of our people? And this Peter 
Petrovitch appears to be kind and gentle. You and 
Slipitsky think in the old ways — only the old thoughts 
of violence and death. This man has been to America 
and he may not be an enemy at all. But if it is true that 
he is seeking you out for evil, then we must be sure of that 
before we do anything against him.” 

“ And how are you to find it out ? Can you go to him 
and tell him that I am in the next room and ask him what 
he seeks me for? Do you forget that he is using peasants 
to trace me? ” 

“ I shall learn his secret,” declared Katerin. “ A 
woman has her own ways for such things — if he hunts 
you, he shall first tell me, and the why of it.” 

“ Ah, you women trust too much,” said her father. 
“ This is*a matter in which no time must be lost with wiles. 
We must know before the Ataman finds ” 

u I, too, think of the Ataman,” put in Katerin. “ What 
if the American, though an enemy, should protect us 
from the Ataman? ” 

Michael gave her an incredulous stare. “ Impossible ! ” 
he said. 

“ But is is not impossible,” insisted Katerin, who al- 
ready had the inspiration of a sudden way out of the 
difficulty. “ What if I should tell this American that I 

179 


THE SAMOVAR GIRJL 


am seeking Michael Alexandrovitch ? Would he not con- 
fide in me then? And if both of us are seeking you, it 
is not likely that he will keep his secret from me — espe- 
cially if I should admit to him that I plan to have your 
life.” 

Michael sat down upon the bed, speechless for a mo- 
ment at the boldness of the plan. 

“Holy Saints!” he whispered after a minute. “You 
would do that, Katerin Stephanovna? That is some- 
thing worthy of the best of the Czar’s police! Ah, but 
you will be playing with fire — you will need your wits at 
every instant.” 

“ True, I shall need my wits,” said Katerin. “ I am 
willing to play with fire, and match my wits against the 
stranger. And when I learn what I want — then we shall 
need our wits all the more.” 

“ I am old and my head is addled,” said Michael. 
“ Sometimes I think I must be going mad — here I am, 
who was governor, hiding in my own city, helpless and 
with ” 

There came a cautious knock at the door. Katerin 
went to it, and heard Slipitsky’s voice outside. She let 
him in — and with him was Wassili ! 

“You stupid one!” exclaimed Michael at sight of the 
old mowjik. “Why have you come here? The Ataman 
will ” 

Slipitsky made frantic signals for quiet, and when he 
had shot the bolt behind him, threw up his hands in an 
attitude of resignation. 

Wassili was wrapped to the eyes against the cold, and 
stood dumbly waiting till he should be asked what he had 
come for. 

“This is the last of us!” whispered the Jew. “We 
shall all be killed now ! Zorogoff has been to your house, 
Excellence — and he told Wassili where you were — here 
180 


THE TRAP SHUTS 


in my house — the floor and the room! So poor Was- 
sili has run away with the warning that you are dis- 
covered.” 

Michael’s head sank upon his breast, as if he now sub- 
mitted to fate. 

“We must go at once!” said Katerin. “ We cannot 
let you draw the wrath of the Ataman because you are 
hiding us, our friend! We shall prepare to go at once! ” 

“ Go ! ” said the Jew. “ You shall not till I am dead! 
We can all die together, mistress. Let the Ataman come, 
I say, and may he die with ten thousand devils dancing 
before his eyes ! ” 

“ Truth ! Let him come,” said Michael. “ You are 
here, Wassili, now stay with us. Let ZorogofF come, and 
by the Holy Saints he or I shall be carried out of the 
place on a board ! ” 

“ And perhaps the American will be glad to meet the 
Ataman, eh?” said Slipitsky. “We may as well bring 
him to the test, now that the Ataman knows where you 
are. We are riding a tiger, and we may as well pull his 
ears!” 


XVI 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 

P ETER found himself enmeshed in a maze of con- 
jecture about Vashka. He knew that she was 
not a samovar girl, yet it was quite possible that 
she had been compelled to become one for her own safety. 
But whatever her purpose might be, it was apparent to 
him that she had expected to find in him a messenger — 
and that the expected messenger would be an American 
officer. 

As Peter studied the matter, he saw that she would not 
know the expected messenger by sight, but would have 
to submit him to some test. It was plain enough that 
she had been greatly disappointed in Peter, for he had 
seen in her face signs of actual terror when she realized 
that she had blundered with him. 

It was the possibility that some other American officer 
w^as expected in the city which worried Peter. Such an 
event might well interfere with his plans for killing 
Kirsakoff. Peter did not want it knowm to the American 
army that he had stopped in Chita — at least, only cas- 
ually. He did not want his presence in the city, nor the 
time, established too well. He hoped to flit away to 
Irkutsk and report himself there without any mention of 
having been in Chita. Then he could come back, report 
himself in Chita and go on to some other city. In this 
way he wanted to establish the fact that he had been in 
Chita, but make it appear that his time in the city had 
been after Kirsakoff had been killed rather than during 
the period of the former Governor’s death. 

182 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 


But it might take Peter a week or more to find Kirsa- 
koff, and then it would take time to work out the details 
of the affair in such a way that there would not be the 
slightest indication that the American officer who had been 
staying at the hotel had had anything to do with it. But 
another American officer in the city would complicate the 
business. The newcomer would expect to keep in close 
touch with Peter, and would probably expect to share his 
room — and the stranger might have a Russian-speaking 
orderly with him. And that would mean that Peter’s 
facility with the language would be discovered, his request 
to be sent over into Trans-Baikailia would become signifi- 
cant, the leaving of the orderly at Nikolsk would build 
up a chain of circumstantial evidence. All that might 
be awkward for Peter if some slight trifle connected Peter 
with the killing of Kirsakoff. 

Peter wondered if he would see Vashka again. It 
seemed a remote possibility that she would return. Why 
should she? She knew now that he was not a messenger, 
and to visit Peter again could do her no good and might 
reveal to him the line on which she was working. There 
was a slight chance that she might be in the American 
service, but he dismissed that thought, for she had given 
him no sign that she was a member of the military secret 
service. His mind being occupied along a certain channel, 
he had no basis on which to begin to analyze the aims of 
Vashka. The key to the solution of the problem, for him, 
was old Rimsky. But that Rimsky was in any way con- 
cerned with the visit from Vashka, was as remote from 
Peter’s mind as would be a suggestion that the samovar 
girl was the little daughter of Kirsakoff. That little girl 
still lived in Peter’s memory as a child sitting in a sledge 
the morning Peter’s father had been killed. His mind 
held that picture — held it without change. It was a 
picture which did not take cognizance of the passage of 

183 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


years, a butterfly caught in amber, say, through the ages. 

If Vashka did not return, Peter resolved that he would 
go out and try his hand again with Rimsky. The old 
cigarette-seller might be induced to tell something which 
would afford a clew of the whereabouts of Kirsakoff. 
And it might be wise to loaf in the restaurant of the old 
post-house, and strike up an acquaintance with anybody 
who would talk. There was no time to be lost, if Peter 
was to find Kirsakoff and get about the business which 
had brought him back to the Valley of Despair. 

When noon came, he rang for a samovar. Before long 
he heard some one moving in the hall, and after a short 
interval, there came a gentle tapping at his door. 

“ Come ! ” he called, and turned his head. “ Vashka ” 
entered with the samovar, pushing the door open before 
her with the forward end of the metal tray. 

“ Oh, I am sorry,” he said, rising from his chair. “ I 
did not expect to see you — I thought the other girl 
would come.” 

She smiled at him, quite gay and playful now, with a 
trace of coyness in her manner. She seemed amused at 
him because he had not expected her to return. 

“ Would you feel sad if I never came back? Would you 
miss me so much? ” 

“ Of course I would miss you,” he replied, not sure what 
else would be safe to say. He would have preferred some 
light pleasantry which would answer her more in keeping 
with her mood, but he was afraid that she might resent 
gayety on his part, even though she affected it herself. 

“ Then I may presume to say that I am the favorite 
samovar girl of the American.” 

“ And it would not be presumption at all,” he said. 

He moved and closed the door after her, while she 
busied herself at the table with the samovar. He had a 
mind for an instant to lock the door and to demand that 

184 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 


she give an explanation of herself and her reason for 
coming to him in the guise of a servant. But he smiled 
at his own Russianism — his impulse to do the dramatic 
thing. He decided to draw her out in a more careful 
manner. One thing he was determined upon — to settle, 
as far as possible, her motives in playing servant. 

“ How long since you have seen Zorogoff ? ” he asked, 
going close to her and standing so that the light from 
the window fell across her face. 

“ IP Why, not so long ago.” She looked at him with 
curiosity as to why he had asked the question. 

“ Have you seen him since you were here? 99 

She laughed lightly. “ If I had, it is quite likely that 
I would not have come back.” 

“ Then I’m glad you did not see the Ataman. And 
please don’t see him, if it is going to mean that you will 
come no more.” 

“ Thank you,” she said. “ I don’t know what you 
mean — but it appears that there is an implied compli- 
ment. Do you mean it as a compliment? ” 

“ What other things could I mean? ” 

“ You might mean many things.” She shrank away 
from him now the least bit, as if she distrusted him. 

Peter sat down in the chair at the end of the table. 

“ And what might I mean, for one thing? ” he asked 
with a quick glance at her. 

“ You — you might mean — that you are suspicious of 
me, and that would make me feel sad.” 

She stood, as if half intending to flee from the room, 
and observing him in wonderment. 

“ Suspicious ! Why should you be under suspicion ? ” 

“ Everybody is under suspicion — no one trusts another 
here,” she replied. 

“ No doubt you have suspicions of me — because I 
speak Russian,” he countered. 

185 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 I am not sure of you,” she said frankly. 44 What have 
I but your coat to prove that you are an American 
officer? ” 

44 You have no more than I have to prove that you are 
a samovar girl. Oh, come now ! Let us not play with 
words ! What did Zorogoff say when he learned that the 
American officer speaks good Russian? ” 

She straightened up suddenly and her body seemed to 
grow rigid. He heard the hiss of her breath, and then an 
hysterical laugh came gurgling from her lips. 

44 So that is it ! ” she cried. 44 You think I am a spy 
for Zorogoff ! ” 

There was no mistaking the revulsion which she felt. 
Peter knew now that she was sincere. 

44 I don’t think so now,” he said. 44 But if I trust you, 
I must know that you are not a spy. You know that I 
am not the messenger you are waiting for, yet you have 
come back to me. I am glad that you came — but why ? ” 

44 Because death threatens me,” she replied. “ And 
Zorogoff is my danger. I seek your help.” She uttered 
the words in a low monotone, but with an intensity of 
feeling which startled Peter. He got up and went to the 
door quickly and turned the big brass key in the lock — 
and pocketed the key. 

64 Does that mean I am your prisoner? ” she demanded. 
But there was no fear in her. 

44 Sit down, please,” said Peter gently, ignoring her 
question. He made a gesture toward the chair at the end 
of the table opposite his own. 

Katerin — 44 Vashka ” — obeyed, willingly, it appeared. 
But her readiness to obey was not so much submission to 
his will as he supposed. She knew now that Peter had 
come seeking her father, though the reason was still a 
mystery. She was determined to solve the mystery and 
learn his secret. 


186 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 


Slipitsky had gone to Rimsky shortly after Wassili 
arrived at the hotel with the news that Zorogoff knew 
where the Kirsakoffs were hiding. The old cigarette- 
seller, alarmed by the fate which had overtaken Ilya, 
went into a panic of fear when Slipitsky charged him with 
knowledge of the American officer’s purpose in coming to 
Chita. 

The Jew charged Rimsky with knowing more than Rim- 
sky did — and Rimsky lied. He attempted to put the 
burden of the affair on Peter. Ilya was dead, so Rimsky 
felt safe in lying. And, in fact, he did not know exactly 
what he had said to Ilya over the vodka. So to clear 
his own skirts, Rimsky made the flat statement* that the 
American had asked directly where Kirsakoff might be 
found. It was a lie — yet it was the truth in so far as 
Peter’s purpose was concerned. 

Thus the story of Ilya was verified. Katerin and her 
father knew Peter sought them*. And Katerin had been 
tempted to reply to Peter’s demand as to why she had 
returned to his room, by demanding why he had come to 
Chita. She refrained because she did not expect that 
Peter would tell her the truth in case he was an enemy. 
She intended to get at the secret by more devious methods. 

“ Now, you must trust me,” he began, in tones barely 
audible to her. “ You have already told me that you 
are in danger from Zorogoff — which indicates that you 
do trust me to some extent. Why do you fear Zoro- 
goff P” 

“ Because he has already threatened me with death — 
and worse,” she replied, calmly. “ He is half Mongol. 
I do not fear death itself, because if he should take me 

from this place, I have poison ” She slipped back 

the cuff of her sleeve, and showed Peter two white capsules 
held in the hem of the cloth by thread sewn in loosely. 

“ So that is it ! ” said Peter, looking into her eyes and 

187 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


seeing the truth in them. His face began slowly to change 
from an expression of startled comprehension of her 
plight, to anger ; he drew his lips back upon his teeth, and 
the rising anger glittered in his eyes. “ The Mongol 
dog ! ” he whispered. “ Can he dare — with a Russian 
woman — a woman like you ! ” 

He saw relief from strain come into her face, and she 
clasped her hands together in a quick gesture of joy 
at his understanding and sympathy. 

“ So that is why I came back here to you. You were 
a Russian, and I knew you would understand — and an 
American officer.” 

He took her hands and kissed them, with head bowed, 
after the Russian fashion, as an act of fealty and respect. 

“ I don’t know what I can do,” he said after a minute. 
“ But I do know that if Zorogoff dares touch you, I 
shall stand in his way. True, I am a Russian — as this 
Mongol shall learn.” 

“ Thank you,” she said simply, withdrawing her hands. 
“ You cannot fight an army, and Zorogoff has many men 
to do his bidding. You would be helpless against him. 
He is not a man to allow a single American to thwart 
him.” 

“ I do not fear him,” said Peter. “ I doubt if he would 
dare kill an American officer.” 

She smiled at his belief that Zorogoff could be checked 
by any fear of the American army. 

“Who would know w r ho killed you, or when?” she 
asked. “ No, you must not risk your life for me. Zoro- 
goff’s hand would not be known if you were destroyed — 
and I would not be any the better.” 

“Does he know you are here — in this hotel?” 

“ Yes, he has traced me. The city is full of his spies, 
and there is a Russian behind his power — a Russian of 
the old regime who is advising Zorogoff.” 

188 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 


“ Who? ” asked Peter. 

“ Oh, you would not know him,” she said, with a shrug 
of her shoulders. 64 1 fear him more than Zorogoff, for I 
know that that this Russian is a part of Zorogoff’s gov- 
ernment.” 

44 But I should know,” insisted Peter. 44 If I am to 
help you, I should know all the facts in the case, so that 
I may inform my superiors. Who is this Russian? ” 

44 He was a Governor here in the old days — before the 
revolution.” 

Peter leaned forward across the table, keenly alert, 
though he attempted to conceal his interest. 44 A Gov- 
ernor of the old days,” he said slowly and softly, so that 
the sentence was akin to a caress. 44 That is interesting. 
I wish you might tell me his name.” 

She brushed her hand across her brow. 44 It is a dan- 
gerous secret,” she warned. 

He laughed lightly. 44 Dangerous secrets are my busi- 
ness,” he said. 44 Learning them — and sometimes keep- 
ing them.” 

44 As I am in great danger because of having this secret, 
you also would be in great danger from Zorogoff if you 
had it. Remember, I caution you — Zorogoff will do 
all in his power to prevent you from escaping Chita if he 
learns that you know who is behind him and his govern- 
ment.” 

44 1 accept the danger,” said Peter. 44 Come — we shall 
be in danger together ! What is the name of this former 
governor? ” 

44 General Kirsakoff.” Her eyes held his as she spoke 
the name. She saw his eyelids lift swiftly, and heard him 
draw in his breath slowly. His hands began to close into 
fists, and the strong fingers sank into the palms while 
the knuckles grew white as the skin was drawn tautlv 
across. He leaned back in his chair, and the little muscles 

189 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


of his jaws stood out under the skin of his cheeks as he set 
his teeth together. And there crept into his face a look 
of exultation, of infinite satisfaction — she saw him 
thrilled with the joy of the hunter who at last gets sight 
of his prey. 

Peter turned away from Katerin and glanced at the 
window, but without seeing it. His face softened into a 
smile, and he got up from his chair, crossed the room, came 
back, and sat down again before her. 

“ Tell me more about this Kirsakoff,” he urged. 
“ What is his name? ” 

“ Michael Alexandrovitch,” she said. “ He is a man of 
noble family — of old boyar stock. He ruled here many 
years before the revolution.” Katerin pretended not to 
notice the smile which was still playing at the corners 
of Peter’s mouth — she looked at him casually as he sat 
down again, but busied herself making squares and circles 
on the tablecloth with her finger. 

“ Is Kirsakoff in the city — now? ” he asked. 

“ I presume so. He spends most of his time here, but 
he keeps well hidden.” 

“Do you know where he may be found? Where he 
lives? ” 

“ It could be easily learned. What would be the good 
of knowing? ” 

“ It does not matter,” he said. “ Still, it might be of 
use to know. Do you think you could easily find out 
whether he is in the city or not? How would you go 
about it? ” 

“ My father was an exile here,” said Katerin. “ He 
was transported ten years ago, and I followed from Mos- 
cow and lived in the Street of the Dames. My father was 
a political — and he knows too much now about Kirsa- 
koff for our safety.” 

“Then your father is in the city?” asked Peter. 

190 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 


“ Here in the hotel with me. We came here and hid 
against Zorogoff — and Kirsakoff. That is why I came 
to you when I heard there was an American staying here. 
We knew we could trust you.” 

She went on and told him how ZorogofPs soldiers, and 
the Ataman himself, had given her and her father the 
mental torture with firing squads; of the threat of the 
Ataman for revenge upon her for her insults, and the 
flight from the house to the hotel when they heard that 
an American was at the hotel. But she did not mention 
Rimsky or Ilya. 

“ And you have no way of escape from the city? ” asked 
Peter. 

“ It is impossible,” said Katerin. “ Some of our 
friends got away. But Zorogoff put the cordons round 
the city after that, and then Kirsakoff joined with Zoro- 
goff.” 

“ What kind of man is this Kirsakoff? What does he 
look like ? ” asked Peter, set upon getting all he could 
about his enemy. 

Katerin looked over Peter’s head, toward the window, 
and thought for a second as if recalling the appearance 
of her father. “ He is a tall man, strong but not heavy,” 
she said slowly. 66 A face inclined to redness — and black 
mustaches. He is a soldier, of course, and stands very 
straight.” 

“ Of course,” said Peter. He recognized the descrip- 
tion, for Katerin had described her father as he had 
looked when he w as in his prime. “ Does he go about 
the city? Could I recognize him by his uniform? ” 

He was eager but cautious. 

“ He might be found at the sobrania late at night,” 
said Katerin. “ But he will be well guarded. You 
should be careful in approaching him, for he has a secret 
bodyguard, as well as the officers who generally are drink- 

191 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


ing wine with him. He does not wear a uniform, but rich 
furs, and he wears his pistols out of sight. He does not 
always dress the same, for he has been a cruel man, and 
is much hated by many people.” 

“ Do you know where he lives? ” asked Peter, who was 
taking care to conceal his eagerness to get all possible 
details. He asked his questions with an assumed indiffer- 
ence. 

“ No, I cannot say. But I am sure my father knows. 
But what good would it do you to know? ” 

“ Not any,” said Peter. “Yet I would like to find this 
Kirsakoff. Where is your father? ” 

“ Here — in the hotel,” said Katerin. 

“ Perhaps it would be as well if I were to ask the Ata- 
man about Kirsakoff,” said Peter. “ Yet I would like 
to talk with your father, if he would see me.” 

“ By all means talk with my father,” said Katerin hast- 
ily. “ It would be fatal for you to admit to the Ataman 
that you had ever heard of Kirsakoff’s ever being here, 
or concerned in the government of the Ataman. That is 
a secret they will conceal at any cost — and that is why 
we are in danger, my father and I.” 

“ But Zorogoff would not know how I had learned about 
Kirsakoff. And I might plead ignorance — I might even 
test the Ataman by asking him if he knew where Kirsakoff 
might be found.” 

“ I have put my life in your hands,” said Katerin 
earnestly. “ If you mention Kirsakoff to the Ataman, he 
will know that you have been talking with us here in 
the hotel. And Zorogoff’s soldiers will come for us at 
once.” 

She rose, rather agitated by Peter’s idea of talking with 
the Ataman. The effect upon her was exactly w r hat Peter 
sought — for he wanted to talk with her father. If she 
feared that Peter would go to the Ataman instead for 
192 


KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 


information, she would make it possible for Peter to learn 
more of Kirsakoff and his haunts. 

44 I do not intend to increase your danger,” said Peter, 
also rising. 44 Have no fear on that score. But I am 
bound to find Kirsakoff in some way — unless your father 
can help me I shall have to make inquiries in my own way.” 

44 It can be arranged that you talk with my father,” 
she said, moving toward the door. 44 Is it really necessary 
that you find Kirsakoff? ” 

44 Not necessary, perhaps,” he said. 44 But I strongly 
desire to find him.” 

44 I — I would like to know the reason.” 

44 1 will tell you that when you tell me where he may be 
found,” said Peter with a smile. 

She stood for a time looking into his face. He saw that 
she was pale, and far more excited than her restrained 
manner revealed to the casual glance. 

44 I will ask my father if he will see you,” she said pres- 
ently. 44 He is very old and ill — he has been shot by 
sentries — a bullet through both his cheeks, though he is 
nearly recovered now from that. He is suspicious of all 
strangers, and you must be patient with him.” 

44 I promise to be patient,” said Peter. 44 If you will 
arrange it for me ” 

44 Ring for the samovar at five,” she said. 

Peter held out his hand quickly, as if there were a com- 
pact between them which must be affirmed. She gave him 
her hand, and he bowed and lifted it to his lips. 

“ Vashka,” he whispered, 44 do you wish to leave this 
city?” 

44 If I could take my father with me,” said Katerin, 
44 yes, I would be glad to escape the dangers here.” 

44 If your father will tell me where Kirsakoff may be 
found — I shall take you both away.” 

44 Oh, then we shall find Kirsakoff!” she said with a 

193 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


sudden return of her gay manner. “ Please ! I am your 
prisoner here! Allow me to return to my father!” 

Peter unlocked the door, and she smiled over her shoul- 
der at him as she ran down the hall. 


XVII 


SETTING THE SNARE 

K ATERIN returned to her father. She found him 
sitting by the table playing a game of solitaire, 
and he looked up from the patterns of the cards 
with blinking, questioning eyes. She did not speak at‘ 
once, but her face was eloquent of the surprise and shock 
she had suffered in her talk with Peter. She was coldly 
calm, as if she knew now something of what was before 
them, and was ready to meet the issue. A plan had al- 
ready formed in her mind, but it was not yet clearly de- 
fined and she wanted time to think and prepare for what- 
ever was necessary. 

“ What have you learned?” whispered Michael, lean- 
ing toward her from his chair. “ I can see that you know 
much — and I doubt that it is good. Do you know why 
this man has come? 99 

“ Yes, I know,” she said, and sat down beside him and 
drew herself a glass of tea. Her hands shook for all her 
resolution not to betray to her father the fact that once 
more they were blocked in their hopes of escape. 

Michael waited till she had refreshed herself, and 
Wassili, who had been making Michael’s bed and potter- 
ing about the room in pretended busyness, came and stood 
close to Katerin with anxious face, keen to hear what 
the mistress would have to report of her visit to the room 
of the American. 

“ Then Rimsky spoke the truth ? ” pressed Michael. 
tfi It is true that the American came seeking me?” He 
had already divined it from Katerin’s manner. 

195 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Yes, Rimsky spoke the truth,” said Katerin slowly, 
and Wassili crossed himself and uttered a smothered ex- 
clamation of satisfaction. 

“ And what did the American say ? ” urged Michael, 
impatient to have the whole story. “Come! You hold 
it back from me! Is his quest evil? ” 

“ He is most eager to find you,” said Katerin, who was 
reluctant to give the full story too abruptly. She was 
trying to devise some way of giving the facts to her father 
which would not be too abrupt and alarm him to rash- 
ness. And she wished to have her own plan worked out 
mentally so that she might have it to offer against the 
startling import of wdiat she had learned from Peter. 

“ For what purpose? ” insisted Michael. His head was 
beginning to shake faster, as it always did when he was 
in an excited frame of mine. He reached for a cigarette 
from a tin box, and his hands shook so that he dropped 
the tiny tube of tobacco. 

“ I am not sure yet,” said Katerin. “ That is some- 
thing I have still to learn. All I know now is that he is 
not a friend — that he means evil to you and we must 
be careful. We must do nothing to stir his suspicions 
of who we are, till we have gone to the bottom of what 
brings him here and what he hopes to do.” 

“We know enough!” said Michael. “He comes for 
evil — and I shall kill him ! ” The old general’s agitation 
disappeared as if by magic. The scent of danger steadied 
him, he thrust Ills chin out and squared his old shoulders, 
sifting back in his chair as if it were all settled now and 
all that remained for him to do was to go out into the 
next room and kill Peter. 

“ No, no,” said Katerin hastily. “ Nothing must be 
done too soon ! First, we must learn more about him.” 

“ He is an enemy, that is enough,” said her father. 
“ Wassili, a match!” 


196 


SETTING THE SNARE 


44 Yes, he is an enemy,” admitted Katerin. 44 But we 
are not in a position to attack an enemy now; besides, 
what good would it do us to kill him, if we do not know 
anything about him? First, as I said, it is my business 
to draw his secret from him.” 

Wassili held a flaming match forth to Michael. “ Mas- 
ter,” said the moujik , as he applied the flame to the cigar- 
ette between Michael’s lips, 44 I am quick with the knife 
— I can strike a good stroke, and no one will be the wiser, 
for I can have the body carted into the forest. Then 
you and the mistress will be free from his danger.” 

44 If we do w r ell, we can use this man to protect us from 
the Ataman,” put in Katerin. 46 Though he seems to be 
a menace, he may in fact be so twisted to our use that he 
will be our salvation.” 

44 A man who is an enemy! Protect us? Are you 
talking madness, my daughter, or have my wits become 
addled by age? I shall not allow a man who is my enemy 
to save me even if he would or could. No, no, I say it — 
this American — this Russian who calls himself an Ameri- 
can — must die. And no time lost in the matter, let 
me say ! ” 

44 But I say you are wrong, father,” insisted Katerin, 
putting her hands on his knees. 44 If he does not know 
who we are, what difference does it make to us or him if 
he is an enemy. The thing for us to do is to make 
friends with him — and fool him into the belief ” 

44 But he will know me!” protested Michael. 44 You 
expect him to talk with me — even see me — and not 
know who I am? That would only be putting our heads 
into the maw of the lion ! I can tell you this, my daugh- 
ter — I shall strike first, while the advantage lies with 
me ! ” 

44 Truth! ” exclaimed Wassili excitedly. 44 The master 
speaks truth ! And I am the one to attend to the task ! ” 

197 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


** But he will not know you,” pleaded Katerin. “ He 
thinks of you as you were years ago, in the days 
when you were Governor, while now you are an old man 
in the rags of a peasant, with ” 

“ Ah, he will know, he will know 1 We must not trust 
to ice so thin! I shall not turn my horse loose too soon 
when danger is over the hill. I may be old, but I have 
not lost my cunning with my enemies, I hope.” 

“ You forget that our lives depend upon our deceiving 
this Peter Petrovitch, my father.” 

“ I think our lives depend upon his not seeing me till 
I am ready to strike,” argued Michael. “ What would 
our lives be worth if he were to come in here now and 
see me ? A beggar’s kopeck — the turn of a hand, the 
call of a quail in the brush ! P-fooh ! I know ! ” 

“ But we have no time to spare. The Ataman’s men 
may be at the door at any minute. Before that we must 
win this stranger to our side, and before he can discover 
who we are, slip away with him to Vladivostok — to Har- 
bin— to ” 

“Vladivostok! You expect an enemy to take us to 
Vladivostok? To Harbin? Why, I would sooner, than 
that ” 

“ He wants to find you. What if I tell him you may 
be found in Harbin? Or Vladivostok? ” 

Michael thrust aside a cloud of smoke that had gathered 
before him, and squinted his eyes at his daughter, as if he 
really doubted her sanity now. 

“ And how could you find me in Vladivostok, when I 
am here in this rat-hole in Chita? Truly, my ears 
hear strange words. They are not worth a last year’s 
egg-” 

“ You do not understand. If this stranger looks to 
me to help him find Michael Kirsakoff, and he does not 
know you for Michael Kirsakoff, what is to prevent our 
198 


SETTING THE SNARE 


telling him that we can take him to some other city ' — to 
find you? ” 

Michael cocked his head to one side and pursed his 
lips. Then a smile broke over his face as he began to 
comprehend. 

“ We have no time to spare,” pressed Katerin. 44 It 
must be done before he can learn by any mischance who 
we are. Once we are free of the city, his chances of dis- 
covering our ruse diminish.” 

44 But how can he take us away, even if what you say 
is true? The Ataman would prevent us — he would be- 
tray us. There would be some slip — and we would be 
in the hands of our enemy, or delivered into the hands of 
the Ataman. We double our danger and gain nothing,” 
objected Michael. 

44 The Ataman would not dare stop an American officer. 
We must chance that. This stranger would give his eyes 
to find you. Very good, then! We shall fall in with 
his desires and turn them to our advantage. We must 
take him away under the pretext that he is to find you, 
then in reality he will be aiding our escape from the city.” 

44 Oh, but he would get to know me in time. My voice, 
my looks, my way of speaking. If he has ever seen me 
at all, he will know me. He may have my description 
— do not be trapped by him. The wolf knows the color 
of the hare he pursues.” 

44 I told him how you looked ” 

64 What ! ” cried Michael. 44 You told him how I looked 
and you expect him not to know me? ” 

44 How you looked twenty years ago, my father. And 
he did not know the difference.” 

44 That was to blind your eyes to his purpose,” said 
Michael. 

44 And I shall blind his,” said Katerin, with sudden reso- 
lution. 44 Wassili ! Fetch me the cover of the pillow 

199 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


from the bed ! And a knife — with a sharp edge ! ” 

Wassili, with a puzzled look upon his face, turned away 
to obey her. 

“ And what is all this ? ” demanded Michael. “ Am I 
to be wrapped like a mummy and put into a bundle? Am 
I to be carried about with a rope to my middle like a 
handle? ” 

“ I shall make sure that the stranger does not recognize 
you — leave it to me, and we shall outwit this stranger 
and come to safety.” 

“ Then you had better take good pains with it,” said 
Michael, “ for if he gives the glimmer of an eye that he 
so much as thinks I look like myself, I shall kill him ! ” 

“ If that must be done, then it must,” admitted Katerin, 
as she cut the edges of the pillow and began ripping it 
into long strips. “ But your face must be hidden from 
him, for he might see something in you that would remind 
him of you in the old days. We must take care against 
such betrayal.” 

“And what are these rags for?” demanded Michael. 

“ A bandage about your face to conceal you further.” 

“ Oh, p-fooh ! ” said Michael disgustedly. “ What non- 
sense is this, that I should be wrapped up like a Turk? 
How the devil am I to talk or breathe or eat my soup? 
I’ll have none of it — I, who was a general of maj- 
esty ! ” 

“ You have had a bullet through both cheeks,” said 
Katerin. “ Come, please ! Hold up your head — these 
cloths will only keep your teeth warm against the cold. 
That is my dear father — and remember, it is to save us. 
Better this chance than to sit here and wait till the Ata- 
man sends Shimilin for us again: Come ! ” She held up 
a strip of the cloth. 

“ Are you going to tie up my face as if I were an old 
beggar with boils ? ” demanded Michael. 

200 


SETTING THE SNARE 


“ Trust to me, my father. When the lion is stricken he 
must still roar, that his enemies will be misled. You have 
said that to me many times. Trust to my wits — and 
we shall see.” 

He puzzled over it for a minute, and then threw back his 
head in submission. “ I shall not stand in the way of 
}^our safety,” he said. “ I leave it in your hands. My 
heart is brave, but the years have put chains upon my 
body,” and he sighed wearily. 

Without more ado, Katerin wrapped the grizzled old 
face with the strips of cotton. They passed over the top 
of his head and down under his chin. His eyes, nose, and 
mouth were clear of the cloths, and his ears stuck out 
oddly behind the wrappings. The white hair on his chin 
gave him a more aggressive look than usual for his beard 
was thrust forward by the bandage. The scant hair on 
the top of his head stuck up, and wavered as* he moved, 
like the crest of a bird. 

Katerin leaned back and studied him with critical eye 
when she had finished. 

“ It will serve well enough,” she said finally. “ If he 
knows you now, he would know you in spite of anything 
we could do. And now listen to my plan. You have 
been a political here for the past ten years — and you 
hated General Kirsakoff, who was a cruel Governor 
and ” 

Michael gave a snort of wrath and wrested the bandage 
off over his head and threw it upon the floor. 

“ I will have nothing more to do with this madness ! I 
was not cruel — I was but just! And I shall not blacken 
my own character! Not an inch shall I give to my 
enemies on that score — I, who was a general in the army 
of majesty ! ” 

Katerin laughed heartily, and picked up the bandage. 
She knew better than to take her father seriously when 

201 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


he was in such temper, and she also knew that she should 
gain her end if she were patient with him. 

“ I only say what the American thinks,” she explained. 
“ If he already thinks that of you, you do not damage 
yourself. And what a joke! A joke that will save us! 
General Kirsakoff telling how cruel Governor Kirsakoff 
was ! Would you not fool this stranger now, to laugh at 
him after we have lost him in Harbin where we are safe? ” 

Wassili sneaked away into a corner to laugh discreetly, 
his shoulders heaving with suppressed merriment over 
the wrath of Michael. 

“ Be still, you, Wassili,” growled the old man, turning 
to look after the moujik. 66 By the Saints ! ” he cried 
to Katerin. “ You see how it is? Am I to be made into 
a buffoon for my servants in my old age? Am I to be 
turned into an actor in a play, a silly clown of a fellow 
to make the country folk giggle into their drink? Am I 
to forget what figure of a man I was ” 

“ You forget my danger,” she chided gently. 

“I forget nothing!” he retorted. “It is I who am 
remembering that I once was Governor here ! ” 

“ Do you remember the Ataman Zorogoff ? ” she asked, 
with sober face. 

“ Yes, and I’ll dance on his grave — but I’ll not have 
my head wrapped up like an old woman doing a penance.” 

“ Very well, then we shall do nothing more, but wait till 
the Ataman comes. Then we can take the poison of 
honor.” 

Katerin sat down by the table and threw the loops of 
the bandage from her. 

Michael looked at her, and an expression of infinite 
tenderness and love came over his face. His lips quivered, 
and he struck several matches violently without getting 
a flame. He threw the last one to the floor, and held out 
his hands to her. 

202 


SETTING THE SNARE 


“Forgive me, Katerin Stephanovna — I did forget. 
But now I remember, and I see what you are striving to 
do. It is true, what you say, and we must play with this 
American. And if we take good care, it may all come 
out as you say — it will be a way out of our danger and 
our troubles. Come, please! Put on the rags, and I 
shall be the best old exile ever was seen, one who is fleeing 
from the wicked Governor — from Kirsakoff! Please! 
Again the bandage, and I’ll be good.” 

“ Ah, little father, there is another way to fight without 
using swords and guns. There is a way to gain your 
ends without your enemy’s suspecting that he is pushing 
your cart.” 

She gave her attention to putting the bandage back. 

“ I grant the truth of what you say,” said Michael. 
“But what will Slipitsky say to this? He is a shrewd 
fox, and there is many a twist in a game of this sort that 
he knows — he has helped many a man to escape from me, 
for all his friendship for me in the old days. Never did 
I dream that we should have to resort to his cleverness 
— but the fox takes his wisdom where he finds it, and that 
is why we say that he is wise.” 

“ It does not matter what Slipitsky thinks of it. We 
cannot- leave all the tricks to our enemies. And you 
must have faith in me, if I am to work this out so that 
good will come of it, and we get away from ther soldiers 
of the Ataman.” 

“I’ll trust you, my daughter. By the Saints! Yo.u 
should have been a man, Katerin Stephanovna!*” 

“ And perhaps if I were a man, we should both be dead 
by now,” said Katerin. “ This is a war of wits, and we 
women have had to use our wits for many years. And 
if those in the high places had heeded the women, Russia 
might not have come to what she has.” 

“ It is good that there are wits between the two of us, 

203 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


for mine are gone, my daughter. I am a hindrance. I 
am but a millstone about your neck, else you would have 
escaped from Chita long before this.” 

“ You won’t be a millstone if you will obey what I 
advise in this affair with the American officer. If we 
cannot go through with this thing, it is better not to try 
our hands at it.” 

“ Have no fear — I’ll say black is white if it does you 
any good,” said Michael, now once more with his face 
trussed in the bandages. 

“ Listen well to what I say,” cautioned Katerin. “ And 
you, too, Wassili. For if we fail, we have not one enemy, 
but two — this stranger as well as the Ataman. And 
if we ^succeed, we have none, for one will save us from the 
other. What better can we ask than that a man who is 
an enemy should deliver us from danger? ” 

“ Give me two enemies, if that can be done,” said 
Michael. 

“ Mind what must be done. Our name shall be Natsa- 
valoff. You were banished for plotting against the gov- 
ernment of the Czar. First, we must learn why the 
American seeks Kirsakoff — for he may not be alone in 
his reasons, but have others who are equally dangerous. 
We must get to the bottom of why he seeks you, though 
the reason does not matter for our purpose. We shall 
have Slipitsky’s advice, too, before we bring the American 
to this room to learn where Kirsakoff may be found. And 
we are not to tell the American where Kirsakoff may be 
found unless he takes us to the city where we shall say 
Kirsakoff is hidden — anywhere, it does not matter, so 
long as we get away from Chita.” 

“And how is Wassili to help in all this?” asked 
MichaeL “Where lies his task?” 

“ When we bring the American here, Wassili shall stand 
behind his chair. We must be on our guard against the 

204 


SETTING THE SNARE 


stranger every second, and if the American should recog- 
nize — or make a move to draw a weapon ” 

Wassili finished the sentence for her in pantomime with 
a quick and eloquent gesture — a short thrust, done 
quickly, and an explanatory grunt. 

“ And you, my father, shall have your little pistol in 
your hand, and the blanket thrown over your knees to 
hide it — so that you shall be able to defend yourself. 
But do nothing rashly — unless he should know you, we 
must not do him harm.” 

Wassili was sent for Slipitsky, and the Jew came. The 
four of them went over the whole plan of escape in case 
Peter should not recognize Michael. They spent the 
afternoon in taking up every possible angle of -the situa- 
tion. And on one thing they agreed — if Peter really 
proved to be a deadly enemy, and should recognize Michael 
— then the American officer must die. 


/ 


XVIII 


THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 

P ETER spent the afternoon walking the floor of 
his room, his whole being in a glow from the fever 
of revenge which had flamed up brightly within 
him while he listened to “ Vashka ” — the name by which 
he knew Katerin. 

And Peter’s inner fury was directed against his own 
mental image of Kirsakoff — a picture revivified and given 
new clarity in Peter’s brain by Katerin’s description of 
her father as he had been in the old days. Peter killed 
that man over and over again in imagination. He knew 
that it might take weeks before he could so shuffle the 
combination of circumstances that Kirsakoff might be 
slain with the greatest margin of safety for himself. 

Through the years, Peter’s hope for vengeance ha.d 
became to him a holy mission. There had been- times 
during his life in the United States when he realized that 
he might never return to Siberia in time to carry out his 
dream of vengeance. But the old hatred had smoldered. 
Now it was burning at white heat. 

What had been his own selfish desire was now trans- 
formed into a patriotic fervor to help his own people. 
The old tribal spirit of the Slav had come to life again 
within him when he encountered the mad ecstasy of libertv 
among the people in Vladivostok. He longed to have 
some hand in the great emancipation which had been 
brought about by those of his race. He was determined 
to join the orgy of destruction. And now he saw his 
own personal revenge coupled with the troubles of the 

206 


THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 


old exile and his daughter. Not only would Peter be- 
come the savior of the beautiful Vashka and strike a blow 
to thwart the new tyranny, of Zorogoff, but his own father 
would be avenged. Katerin personified for him the Rus- 
sia which must be saved, just as Kirsakoff personified the 
Russia which must be destroyed. For Kirsakoff, a sur- 
vivor of the old autocracy, was plotting with the Mongol, 
Zorogoff, to defeat the purposes of the revolution and once 
more bind the people to the wheel of slavery. The old sys- 
tem was evil, and no vestige of it must remain. That was 
the aim of the people, and Peter believed in it. His mind 
had never grasped, the thought that in the background of 
events there might be a new autocracy throwing sand in 
the eyes of the people to enslave them with new fetters 
which were not yet visible. “ Destroy ! Destroy all who 
do not work ! ” was the cry. And as work was defined 
for the mass of the people, it meant common labor — and 
the laborer lacked the ability to think about the conse- 
quences of killing all who might be able to divine the 
purpose behind the cry for destruction. And Peter was 
trapped into thinking only of the past and its evils, with- 
out looking into the future of a race which allowed only 
its serfs to live. 

He thought only of the fact that he had been rescued 
from Siberia and sent back with the power of avenging his 
own wrongs. And as he prayed for success, he crossed 
himself with both hands, in the way of the people of old. 
The deep well of mysticism and emotionalism which so 
often had swept the Slav into action without the cooler 
previsions of those races which had gained the beginning 
of their freedom in the Dark Ages, now shook Peter’s 
soul. He was living again in the stark horrors of his 
boyhood — living over again the bitter morning when 
his father had been struck down in the street. These 
memories he hoped to blot out by slaying with his own 

207 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


hand one dragon of the old autocracy — Michael Alex- 
androvitch Kirsakoff. 

Michael would be well guarded, and wary. But his 
vigilance might be relaxed by artifice. Peter had not 
yet formulated his plan, but there would be many pre- 
texts for getting closely in touch with Kirsakoff. Peter 
might even represent that he had come to enter into 
secret negotiations with Kirsakoff on behalf of the Ameri- 
can government. That was one of the many possible 
plans which flitted through Peter’s brain. But the busi- 
ness would require care in preparation and good judg- 
ment in its execution. All impulses toward prompt deci- 
sion must be put aside — it would be a patient waiting 
for the minute which promised success without attaching 
the slightest suspicion to Lieutenant Peter Gordon of the 
American army. 

That could be done only after a period of slowly acquir- 
ing the confidence of Michael. Peter would have to build 
up a pretended sympathy with the old regime and its 
adherents, and show a willingness to aid Zorogoff and 
Kirsakoff in gaining the friendship of the American forces 
— even plan to aid in betraying the people of Russia in 
their aspirations for freedom. 

Peter saw himself dining with Kirsakoff as a guest of 
the general; he built in his imagination a succession of 
secret conferences with Kirsakoff, and then, perhaps dur- 
ing an evening over wine and cigarettes, a whisper to 
Michael, “ Do you know who I am in truth? Peter Petro- 

vitch, son of Gorekin the bootmaker ! ” and then the 

bullet and the escape. 

Peter could see Michael turn his horrified eyes upon the 
smiling American officer who was really the son of an exile. 
Gorekin the bootmaker! Michael might not remember at 
first. How could a Governor be expected to carry in 
his memory a poor unfortunate, and a boy of twenty 
208 


THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 


years before? But Peter would make Michael remember. 
There must be time for that so that Michael should know 
by whose hand he died. That would be necessary if Peter 
was to have his complete joy in his vengeance. 

When the sun had dropped over the crest of the hills, 
and the frost was gradually creeping upward on the panes, 
etching a thick tropical foliage upon the glass, Peter 
went to the window and looked out over the Valley of 
Despair. The little hut of his boyhood was merging 
slowly into the shadows of the taller buildings about it. 
Tiny sparks appeared in the white smoke rising from the 
hut’s stone chimney — Rimsky was evidently feeding the 
fire-pit for the night. 

Peter stood by the window musing on the bitter days 
and nights of the exiles long dead and forgotten — on the 
staggering columns coming in afoot over the Czar’s road 
to a living death, on the clanking of chains and fetters, on 
the screams in the nights as some cabal of exiles 66 roofed ” 
one who had betrayed some breaking of the rules to the 
guards, on the barking of rifles as fugitives were hunted 
out of the hills. 

Chita had become a city. It was built of the tears and 
anguish, of bodies destroyed and minds wrecked, of hates 
and cruelties, all mixed with the bricks and logs of its 
walls. And limitless legions of human beings had been 
poured into the wilderness and their bodies used as fertil- 
izer to build up a new empire for the rulers of Russia. 

“ Oh, you cry for justice!” he said to the spirits of 
those who had suffered. “ The time has come for justice 
— you have waited long, but to-morrow will not be as 
yesterday ! ” 

He turned from the window and took his belt and pistol 
from the writing table and strapped them about him. 
Then he turned on the shaded droplight. It threw down 
upon the cloth of the writing table a yellow cone of 

209 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


radiance. It was now five by his watch. He rang the bell 
thrice — the signal for Vashka, as Katerin called herself. 

He sat down by the table and waited. The sound of 
people walking about in the hall furtively, came to his 
ears, with the careful opening and closing of doors and 
snatches of conversation. He heard the strains of an 
old Russian air played on a violin by some one on the floor 
above, and the regular pounding of feet as if the steps 
of a Cossack dance were being tried intermittently. 

It was the hour of the evening when the people in the 
hotel began to bestir themselves for the gay times of the 
night. They kept hidden during the day, and went 
abroad under cover of darkness to the restaurants of the 
city, to return to their rooms in the early morning. 

The men who lived in the hotel were mostly officers who 
were attached to the Ataman’s army, judging from those 
Peter had seen about the halls. The women were a flashy 
lot — women who had drifted up the railroad from Vladi- 
vostok or Harbin, and women of the sort that has the 
best of everything in times of famine and disorder. They 
were the parasites who seem to thrive best in times of 
disaster, and who get the most out of life when there are 
no laws of restraint. When they have acquired some 
amount of treasure, they are robbed and abandoned. 

Katerin was at the door in response to the signal by 
bell with amazing promptitude. She entered without 
knocking, and closed the door behind her softly. She 
stood for a minute, a vague shadow in the gloom outside 
the zone of the shaded lamp. 

Peter rose and moved toward her. “ Thank you for 
coming,” he said in a low voice in keeping with her 
secretive entrance. “ Have you persuaded your father 
to tell me what I wish to know? Will he help me in my 
quest? ” 

“If you still wish it,” she replied. “ Please ! Take 

210 


THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 

the shade from the lamp — the darkness is not pleas- 
ant.” 

Peter caught a note of melancholy in her voice. She 
seemed to be discouraged, and his own hopeful attitude 
wms somewhat chilled. 

“ Has anything gone wrong? ” he asked. 

<c No, not unless it is wrong for us to involve you in 
the same dangers which face us. My father appears re- 
luctant to put you into a situation the full danger of which 
may not be apparent to you, a stranger.” 

Peter laughed merrily to cover the sudden fear which 
he had felt that she might recede from her promise to help 
him find Michael Kirsakoff. 

“ I have no fear,” he said. 44 There may be danger, 
but I am glad to help you. I shall attempt to find Kirsa- 
koff in any event — and may well run into more danger 
than if your father should tell me how to go about the 
job. So when it comes to that, my danger is only in- 
creased if you do not help.” 

44 Perhaps you are right,” she said. 

He went and lifted the shade off the lamp, and stood 
revealed in his uniform in the flood of light. The silver 
bars on his shoulders glittered as he leaned over the lamp, 
but Katerin’s eyes rested upon the brown boxlike holster 
at his hip. 

He swung round upon her, smiling. Now he saw that 
her gay mood of her former visit had vanished — her 
eyes seemed sadder and the light revealed the pinched 
pallor of her face. She was suffering from strain long 
endured, he saw, and a twinge of pity tugged at his heart. 

He went and pulled down the decrepit window shades, 
and then slapped his pistol. 44 Here we have the power 
of America ! ” he said. 44 Behind me is an army. Come ! 
It is not a time to be sad ! America is here, and that 
means justice to the oppressed!” 

m 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


She sat down in a chair, and smiled at him, in a brave 
attempt to be merry with him. 

“ America must be a wonderful land,” she said. “ I 
have heard much about it, and read much about it. But 
there are many who say it is no better than our own 
Russia.” 

“What!” cried Peter. “You must not be misled. 
America is a land of magic ! Look at me, a poor Russian 
boy who was the son of an unfortunate here in the Valley 
of Despair, and in a few years it transformed me into an 
officer, and sent me back to help my own people — and 
to help you, Vashka.” 

“ And in time you will go back to America,” she said. 
“ Like all Russians who have been there and return to 
their own land, you will once more go to America.” 

“ Oh, yes. I shall go back when Russia has her free- 
dom. But what did your father say? Have you per- 
suaded him to help me about Kirsakoff? You have not 
told me that.” 

“ My father is discouraged. You must not be annoyed 
if he is slow and cautious with you, who are a stranger. 
He has said that he doubts if one American officer can 
fight the army of Zorogoff.” 

“ But he must remember also that I am a Russian. 
Does he think I will hide behind my American coat, and 
allow Kirsakoff and Zorogoff to destroy you? I may be 
only one, but behind me is the American army, and Zoro- 
goff must give heed to that.” 

“But if ZorogofPs men should kill you? We have 
seen terrible things here — men are shot down crossing 
the street if they are opposed to Zorogoff. And who is 
to know who fired the shot if you should meet such a fate? 
Then, if it were known to Zorogoff that we had helped 
you, it would be the worse for us, with no one to protect 
us.” 


212 


THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 


“ True,” said Peter, “ but it is one thing for Zorogoff 
to terrorize a girl and a helpless old man, and quite an- 
other for him to frighten or kill an American officer — 
or defy the American army. He is aware of that, and he 
will be careful with me.” 

“ But your soldiers are in Vladivostok.” 

“ That is near enough to make Zorogoff think twice. 
In time he would have to pay the shot. And once we have 
found Kirsakoff and I have attended to my business, we 
shall leave the city.” 

“ You are brave,” she said simply, with a look of 
admiration. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ It is you have been 
brave. It is easy for me to talk, with an army at my 
back. Please — tell me one thing — are you expecting 
an American officer to come here and meet you and your 
father? ” 

She looked at him in surprise, as if trying to understand 
what meaning might be behind his question. She locked 
her fingers together, and took her time before replying. 

“ No, we are not expecting an American officer. Our 
friends may send help to us. That is why I came to you 

— any newcomer in the city might bring word from friends 

— might be seeking to get news to us from friends.” 

She laughed suddenly in comprehension of his meaning, 
and went on hastily. “ We who are beset clutch at any 
straw — and you were a straw. Yet was I not wise? 
For you have said you will save us — you would even take 
us away, or ” 

Katerin stopped abruptly, and looked into the light of 
the lamp. Her eyes showed more animation now, and 
Peter found himself admiring the patrician poise of her 
head. She turned away from his gaze, and shivered 
slightly. 

“ Or what? ” he prompted. 

213 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Or you would even kill Kirsakoff for us — rid us of 
one of our enemies.” 

Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he smiled. 

46 What makes you think I would kill Kirsakoff? ” he 
asked. 44 Have I said anything to make you believe 
that? ” 

44 No,” she admitted, returning his gaze for an instant. 
44 You have not said that. But if my father is to help 
you find Kirsakoff, you must first convince us that you are 
an enemy of Kirsakoff. It will be a secret for a secret, in 
the old way of bargaining among the exiles. We have 
trusted you much, but how do we know what your pur- 
pose is in finding Kirsakoff? ” 

Peter frowned at the floor and considered what she had 
said. He had not counted on having to take any one into 
his confidence. He did not doubt that he would be able 
to find Kirsakoff on his own account, if he had plenty of 
time. But his time in Chita was not at his own disposal. 
An American officer might come through the city and 
report that he had seen Peter; before very long, Peter 
would be compelled to go on to Irkutsk and report himself 
from there, or go down the line of the railroad. And 
once in touch with Vladivostok, he knew that orders might 
come from headquarters which would compel him to 
appear in some other city without delay. 

And what damage could be done by telling this girl and 
her father his reasons for wanting Kirsakoff? They, 
themselves, feared and hated the Governor, who was again 
in power. They could be trusted not to betray him. 

44 What you say is fair enough,” he said finally. 44 1 
think I can convince your father that I am the friend 

of anybody who was an exile, and that ” He was 

about to add, 44 1 am an enemy of Michael Kirsakoff.” 
But he refrained. There would be time enough for that 
when he talked with her father, and he was determined 

214 


THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 


that before he told his story, he should meet and judge for 
himself the measure of confidence to be given to the old 
man who had been an exile. 

“ I should like to know your full reasons — for wanting 
to find Kirsakoff,” suggested Katerin. She, too, was 
wary. 

“ You shall hear,” he said, “ when I talk with your 
father.” And he spoke with finality, as if there were no 
use in going further with the subject. 

She went to the wardrobe against the wall, and turning 
to Peter, said, “ Move this away from the door which 
leads to our rooms — I got the Jew to bring us near to you. 
Now we can pass from our rooms to yours without going 
into the hall. It will be safer, for we cannot tell who 
will see us if we have to use the hall.” 

“ That was wise,” he said, and going to the wardrobe, 
he put his shoulder against it, and steadying it with his 
hand, shoved it aside far enough to clear the door which 
it concealed. When he had finished, she picked up the 
shade of the lamp and slipped it back over the globe. 

“ We are not known to the servants,” she said. “ You 
must be careful with our names — which are — Natsava- 
loff.” 

“ Perhaps it will be well to avoid using any names,” said 
Peter. “ It might increase your danger.” 

“ It would, indeed,” she agreed. “ Now, I shall go 
round and free the bolt on our side — and take you to 
my father.” 

Katerin slipped into the hall, and Peter snapped out the 
light on the table and waited in darkness. In a minute 
he heard the rattle of the bolt on the far side of the 
door, and then it swung open slowly. 

Katerin stood before him, outlined against the dim light 
seeping in from a farther room through curtains hanging 
in a doorway. 


215 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“Come!” she directed in a whisper. “My father is 
eager to talk with you. But remember — he is very old, 
and he is still in some pain from his wounds. And if he 
is querulous, I trust that you will be patient with him.” 


XIX 


FACE TO FACE 

P ETER stepped across the threshold of the open 
door, and into the shaft of light spilling through 
the partly curtained doorway of the room beyond. 
Looking to the end of this vista of light, he saw the figure 
of a man sitting in a chair by a table. The head and up- 
per part of this man’s body were only vaguely visible and 
merged against the dark background of the far wall. 
But his boots were silhouetted in the radiance of the 
beams of the lamp which shot downward under the shade 
— boots that looked grotesquely large and misshapen, for 
their shadows were cast upon the floor in elongated out- 
line. 

Katerin stopped at the curtained doorway, and by a 
gesture, bade Peter enter before her. He went on, and 
as he neared the lamp on the table, he saw that the figure 
in the chair was a frail old man with his head tied up 
in a bandage. And behind the chair, better hidden by 
the gloom, was a man standing, whom Peter took for 
a servant hovering over his master with watchful care. 
Only the face of the moujik was plainly visible to Peter, 
and his eyes shining with the reflected light of the lamp, 
like two luminous pin-pricks, were boring across the 
room at Peter. The tense alertness of the moujik’s pos- 
ture suggested an animal crouching for a spring. 

Katerin passed Peter, and approached her father. She 
said, 44 Our friend has come to us,” and to Peter, 44 This 
is my father.” 

Peter’s heels came together, and he bowed low. When 
he looked at the old man again, the withered head, 

217 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


wrapped in the encircling bandage, was nodding gently 
as if with a palsy. And the bent shoulders leaned for- 
ward under a gray blanket, to peer at the visitor. The 
right hand, hidden beneath the blanket over his legs, 
seemed to be trembling, while his left hand lifted from his 
knee made a motion tow’ard a chair — it was a thin, 
bony hand, more like a claw than a hand. 

“ I bid you welcome, sir,” piped Michael, hoarsely. 
“ But I have little hospitality to offer a guest under this 
roof.” 

“ May God’s blessings fall upon you, sir,” replied 
Peter, his heart quickened by sympathy with this pathetic 
old ruin of a man — a man who, like his own father as 
Peter thought, had suffered the life of an exile under the 
cruel rule of the Governor, Michael Kirsakoff. Here, 
Peter supposed, was another victim, in feeble senility, 
still pursued and threatened by Zorogoff and the same 
Governor Kirsakoff who had brought about the death of 
Peter’s father, and thrown the boy Peter into a big prison. 
And these thoughts fed the inward flame of hatred 
which burned through Peter’s being against Michael Kirsa- 
koff — the very man before him, and on whom he had just 
called for the blessing of God! Here was his enemy of 
old, and he looked upon him, yet knew him not. 

For a time the two men peered at each other, one know- 
ing that an enemy was before him, and one thinking that 
he was in the presence of a friend. But Peter saw noth- 
ing in the old man which brought to mind anything of 
Michael Kirsakoff. Katerin, as Vashka, the samovar girl, 
had so arranged the shaded lamp, and the chairs, that 
her father’s face shbuld not stand out clearly in light 
against a dark background. Also the bandage hid the 
jaws and cheeks of Michael in such a way that the old 
man’s facial contour was blurred. Age had done much 
to hide Michael, and Peter’s memory was clinging to his 

ns 


FACE TO FACE 


own picture of Kirsakoff of twenty years before. And 
Peter had adjusted his mind to the finding of Kirsakoff as 
a result of this interview, and somewhere beyond it, so 
it would have been hard to convince him that Kirsakoff 
was now before him. 

“ You come as an American officer, yet my daughter 
tells me that you are one of us — a Russian who has 
come back to help Russia,” said Michael. 

“ Yes, and it is twenty years since I saw mj| native 
land,” said Peter, as he sat down. 

“ Ah, it is a sad home-coming for one of the mother- 
land’s children,” sighed Michael. “ They say now that 
the people will rule at last.” 

Katerin stepped to the table to draw hot water from 
the samovar, which was so placed that she stood almost 
between Peter and her father, though without preventing 
them from seeing each other. She did not trust to her 
precautions against Peter’s recognizing her father, know- 
ing that there were elements in the situation which might 
bring on some mischance on the side of tragedy. 

And Wassili acted according to his instructions. As 
Peter sat down, the moujflc left Michael’s chair, and 
offered the guest a cigarette from a tin box, lighted a 
match — and remained behind Peter’s chair. Thus it ap- 
peared to Peter that he was being tendered the usual 
courtesies. 

“ It is true that times have changed, sir,” said Peter. 

“ Ay, they have, truly,” said Michael. “ And some 
say for the better. Perhaps. But I’ll not live to see it 
all finished. I shall get no good from it. But we must 
remember those who have died dreaming dreams for the 
future.” 

“ True,” said Peter. “ And this ground is full of such 
— we must remember them, and it is our duty to see that 
they did not sacrifice themselves for nothing.” 

219 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


44 My daughter tells me that you know our story — 
that I w as a political here.” 

44 In the time of Kirsakoff, the Governor,” said Peter. 

44 Kirsakoff ! ” said Michael. 44 Ah, yes, I had good 
reason to know Kirsakoff. There are many waiting their 
chance to settle with him, and he has but a short time for 
this world. But one of the lessons we learned here, my 
friend, was to bide our time — and I am waiting.” 

44 And Kirsakoff is in with Zorogoff ? ” 

44 That Mongol dog ! ” said Michael. 44 Have you 
heard that he has visited upon my daughter and me the 
silent torture? And that even now we hide from him? 
Yes. Well, he has buried people to their necks by the 
dozen, and then sent horsemen galloping over the ground. 
But if God is good I shall live to see his head carried 
about on the end of a pole ! ” 

44 And Kirsakoff stands behind him, I hear,” said Peter. 

Michael exchanged glances with Katerin. 44 True, it 
is Kirsakoff who helps him hold his power.” 

44 But it is dangerous to talk of Kirsakoff,” said Katerin, 
as she handed Peter a glass of tea. 44 That is whisper 
talk, and I warn you.” 

44 No,” grumbled Michael. 44 Your life would be worth 
little if you let it be known that you are in possession 
of that secret. You are playing a dangerous game if you 
wish to get close to Kirsakoff.” 

44 But if he only knows me as an American,” suggested 
Peter. 

44 What! You, who speak the real Russian!” ex- 
claimed Michael. 44 Do not be fooled — he will know you 
for a Russian ! ” 

44 1 can arrange that,” said Peter, with a smile. 44 If I 
can find him, that is a matter easy enough to be handled 
as the business needs.” 

Michael shook his head energetically. 


FACE TO FACE 


“No, no, my friend! KirsakofPs hand is hidden. 
Your life would be in danger at once if you gave a hint 
that you even know that Kirsakoff is in the city. Be sure 
of that.” 

“ Then I can pretend I do not know him,” pressed 
Peter. He was somewhat disappointed by the resistance 
offered by the old man. 

“ You must remember, my father, that our friend has 
reasons of his own for wanting to find the Governor. And 
danger may not be a matter of concern.” 

Peter gave her a grateful glance for thus allying her- 
self with him. 

“ If I were to tell you my reason for wanting Kirsakoff, 
I am sure that you would say that it is good, sir. I have 
waited many years to come back — and now I must not 
fail. I shall find Kirsakoff.” 

“ But I should not like to be the one who puts your 
life in danger,” said Michael. “You may not be aware 
of all it means — this business of the Governor is not a 
light subject. You will do well not to cross his tracks, 
for he will strike at you through Zorogoff’s spies, and you 
will never know who struck. One cannot fight an army — 
and Zorogoff will not brook any interference. He will 
destroy you like a fly upon his bread.” 

“ I count the danger,” said Peter, sipping his tea, and 
willing to wait till the old man was in a humor to be more 
communicative. 

“ The Governor has five thousand rifles at his back,” 
said Michael. “ You cannot know yet the full danger.” 

“ I shall go gladly to meet it,” persisted Peter. “ It 
cannot be any greater than my desire to find Kirsakoff.” 

“ You would risk death? ” asked Michael. 

“ Even death.” 

“ What ! Twenty years in America, and you would 
risk death to find Kirsakoff? ” 

221 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ What you say is true, sir.” 

The old man studied Peter carefully for a minute. 
“ You speak,” he said finally, “ as if you had spent twenty 
years in the Governor’s prison, instead of twenty years in 
America.” 

“ I spent time enough in his prison,” said Peter. 

Katerin uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise. 

u Here ! You were in the old prison here? ” she asked. 

“ I was,” said Peter, with a grim tightening of his lips. 

“ But you are too young to have been an exile ! ” gasped 
Michael. u If you had been one of — us, I can well under- 
stand. There are many who have been here for long 
years — they have known the chains, they have known a 
lifetime in cells. And still, they have no stomach for 
meeting the Governor face to face. That is because they 
know KirsakofF — and that he is not a man who can be 
hunted like a rabbit.” 

“ I also knew him,” said Peter. “ I doubt if I will 
fear him, even if I come face to face with him — and he 
knows me for a Russian, and by my true name.” 

“Oh! So you knew KirsakofF ? ” asked Katerin. 
“ Then it will not be so difficult for you to find him.” 

“ I knew him too well,” said Peter, now beginning to fear 
they would settle themselves against helping him to find 
KirsakofF, and seeing that he would have to take them into 
his confidence if they were to be of any help to him. “ I 
knew him when I was a boy here — and I have an old 
score to pay ofF. I have come to pay it, and I shall not 
be kept from finding KirsakofF, even though he were the 
new Czar.” 

“ You must have been an unfortunate to have been in 
the prison,” said Katerin. She was still gazing at him 
with curious eyes, as if she could not believe that he was 
really telling the truth about himself — as if she thought 
he was making his story fit his necessity for finding Kirsa- 
222 


FACE TO FACE 


koff and was making it as serious as possible to induce 
them to help him. 

“My father was an unfortunate — a political — here 
in the Valley of Despair.” 

“Indeed, was he?” asked Michael, with renewed in- 
terest. “ You mean that he was here in the time that 
Kirsakoff was Governor? ” 

“ In the same time — when I was a boy,” said Peter, 
and looked at Katerin. Her face was full of shocked 
surprise. She seemed horror-stricken at the idea, and he 
wondered why she should think it so strange and so 
terrible. He rather expected that she would see that they 
would all be drawn together in common trouble, and have 
a common hatred for Kirsakoff. 

44 How strange,” she said, turning to the lamp. “ Then 
you are one of us — no wonder you seek Kirsakoff.” 

“ Ay, that is a new string to the fiddle,” agreed Michael. 
44 I can understand now that you should want to find the 
Governor. Perhaps you are right in this matter after 
all — and I must think it over. You have reason enough, 
yet it is a serious thing for me to put you in danger.” 

Peter felt better at this new attitude of the old man, 
and thought that now they regarded him with a more 
friendly eye. He was, in truth, one of them, and there 
is a strong bond of sympathy between exiles and the 
children of exiles. 

46 And we might have known — could we have known 
your father? ” 

44 You could not have known my father. He died here 
twenty years ago — before I went to America,” said 
Peter. 

44 Twenty years ! That is a long time to wait for ven- 
geance,” said Michael. 44 Many things are forgotten in 
twenty years, and time cures many things.” 

44 Ay, so it is a long time, in one way, and in another 

223 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


a short time. It seems but yesterday that I was a boy 
here in Chita. You, sir, have worked all your life to see 
Russia a free land. And like you, I have learned to bide 
my time.” 

“ Things must look strange to you here,” said Katerin. 
“ The city has grown in twenty years.” 

“ Yes, outwardly things look different. But the hills, 
the old prison, the streets — I see them as they were. 
During my years in America I never forgot, though I 
confess I had little hope of ever coming back. But the 
war gave me my chance. I was going to France, but 
when the government decided to send troops here, I 
volunteered for service in Siberia. Was it not God- 
given that I should be allowed to come back to my native 
land — and to come to Chita ? ” 

“ True,” said Katerin, “ if the debt, as you call it, 
which you owe to the Governor, is such that God would 
have it paid.” She moved her chair in such way that she 
was nearer the table, and so that she was closer to her 
father. Also, she managed so that she cut more light from 
her father’s face. 

“ And what is the debt P ” asked Michael. “ If it is not 
a secret — if I am to tell you where you may find the 
Governor, perhaps you will see it in such way that you 
can trust me with the secret.” 

“ It was Kirsakoff’s orders which brought about my 
father’s death.” 

Katerin’s teeth shut down upon her lower lip, and her 
fingers closed slowly upon the sides of her chair. She 
sat rigid, staring at Peter, and her face became paler. 
Michael did not move, but his breath began to come faster, 
and he wheezed, as if his chest had tightened and he was 
about to cough. 

“ Killed your father? ” asked Katerin, in low tones. 

“ No, Kirsakoff did not strike with his own hand,” went 

224 


FACE TO FACE 


on Peter, still gazing fixedly at the lamp. 44 But he 
ordered my father back to the prison, and when my father 
ran after the Governor to beg for mercy, a Cossack soldier 
cut my father down with a sword. And I was thrown 
into the big prison on the hill — I, a poor helpless boy 
who had done nothing.” 

Wassili moved uneasily behind the chair of Peter, and 
Katerin gave the moujik a glance of disapproval. 

44 Then you do know,” said Katerin to Peter, 44 how 
cruel the Governor was to the poor unfortunates. And 
that is why you seek him.” 

44 What was done to my father and me — what was it? 
Only the ordinary thing of the old days, as you know. 
Yes, that is why I seek Kirsakoff, and why I ask your help 
to find him.” 

44 And how long were you in the prison? ” asked Michael. 
44 There must have been a charge against you? ” 

44 I was in prison three months, as near as I can tell,” 
replied Peter. 44 Three months of hell on earth and in 
darkness, forgotten to the world ! It might have been 
three years, or three hundred, measured in my suffering 
— the terrible sounds by day and by night, the rats — 
and I might have been there till now, or dead, so far as 
Kirsakoff cared.” His bitterness was growing, and his 
face was getting livid with rage. 

44 And for nothing?” asked Katerin. 44 Had you done 
nothing against the Governor — or the laws of the Czar? ” 

44 Ay, even Kirsakoff would have mercy on a boy,” said 
Michael. 

44 1 did nothing, I swear,” went on Peter. 44 It was the 
orders of Kirsakoff which sent me to prison. It was this 
way — an officer knocked me down in front of the post- 
house. And when my father came to pick me up, the Gov- 
ernor ordered both of us taken away to the prison. 

44 You see, my father belonged to the free gang — he 

225 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


was a political, as were you. My mother died here, in 
the Street of the Dames. I never knew her. But my 
father was good and kind to me. He was all I had in 
the world, he was all I loved, though in those days (and 
Peter smiled wistfully) I was taught to love the Little 
Father, the Czar. 

“ My father was struck down before my eyes, and when 
I was taken to the prison, the officer in charge of the 
books was drunk — and he put my name down in the book 
wrong — put my name down as my father’s — gave my 
father’s name to me, so that the records appeared to 
show that it was my father and not me, the boy, back in 
prison. I did not know what they were doing, and for 
three months it was supposed that it was my father, the 
political, who was in the cell by order of the Governor.” 

“ Then no doubt the Governor freed you — gave you 
the pardon,” said Michael. 

“ No,” said Peter. “ It was God’s hand that set me 
free. Some convicts escaped one night, and were re- 
captured by the cordons in the taiga. But before the 
soldiers took them, they had waylaid a sledge carrying an 
American fur-buyer to Irkutsk. His name was Gordon. 
The convicts robbed him. When Gordon got back here 
to Chita, he was taken to the prison and the convicts were 
brought out to be identified by him as the robbers. It 
happened that one of these men, named Grassi, had been 
put in the cell with me. When he was taken out into the 
prison yard, I was taken with him. Then it was discov- 
ered that I was the son of my father, and that there was 
no charge against me. Mr. Gordon, the American, asked 
to take me as his servant. I was released, the prison 
commandant corrected the records, and Mr. Gordon took 
me with him to America.” 

Peter paused, and looked at Michael, to see what effect 
the story had had on the old man. But Michael’s head 

226 


FACE TO FACE 


was nodding gently, and he seemed to be turning the matter 
over in his mind, his lips moving as if he were shaping 
words which he did not speak aloud. 

Katerin stood up suddenly, and tested the fire in the 
samovar. She seemed agitated, and Peter assumed that 
she suffered with indignation at hearing his sufferings at 
the hands of the Governor. Then she turned to him 
swiftly. 

44 What will you do — when you find the old — Kirsa- 
koff? 99 she demanded. 

44 1 shall kill him,” said Peter simply, and was aware of 
a quivering hand upon the back of his chair. He turned 
and looked at Wassili. The moujiJc’s eyes were shining 
like a cat’s before a fire, and there was the look of murder 
in his face. 

44 Kill him ! ” cried Michael. 44 But he did not kill your 
father ! ” 

Peter was startled for an instant by the old man’s 
horror, and Katerin’s face revealed the fact that she had 
never dreamed that the American officer was bent on 
murder — she seemed actually to be in terror of him. 
Peter suffered a moment of abashment, and gulped down 
what was left of the tea in his glass. He understood 
that these people did not yet fully appreciate how wan- 
tonly his father had been killed, nor how little provocation 
there was for the killing. He was determined to convince 
them of the justice of his designs. 

44 My father and I,” he began anew, 44 lived in a little 
hut down the Sofistkaya — it is there yet — I can see it 
from the windows of my room. An old man lives in it 
now, a queer old patriarch, who sells cigarettes ” 

44 That is Rimsky ! ” exclaimed Wassili to Katerin. She 
nodded, and looked at him so that she checked him. 

44 Yes, Rimsky,” said Peter. 44 That is his name. That 
is where I lived with my father, and where he taught me 

227 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


the almanacs. We were happy, for we had a samovar, 
and the ladies of the Street of the Dames came to us often. 
They gave me cakes, and my father money. Of course, I 
know now that he was an underground to the prison — 
he carried messages back and forth between w r ives and 
their husbands in the prison.” 

“ Yes, they had many ways of getting news in and out 
in the old days,” said Michael, with a smile. “ But go 
on with your story, my friend.” 

Peter struck a match to light a fresh cigarette, and the 
flame showed his face to be flushed by his emotions. 

“ The year of which I speak,” resumed Peter, 66 the 
almanacs from Moscow were late. The mail-sledges came 
in from Irkutsk one morning. I ran down to the post- 
house to learn if the almanacs had come. There were 
Excellencies in the sledge. As I remember, the Governor’s 
daughter — Katerin was her name, I think, and ” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried Katerin, striking her hands together. 
“ Katerin Stephanovna ! She was the Governor’s daugh- 
ter — I have heard of her ! It is said now that she is 
dead ! ” and Katerin turned to her father, as if to verify 
w T hat she had said. 

“ It has been said that she is dead this long time,” 

assented Michael. “ Some say that Zorogoff ” He 

checked himself. 

Peter continued with his tale, warmed to it again by 
the evident interest of his listeners. 

“ Yes, that was the Governor’s daughter. Her coming 
w T as his reason for meeting the sledge that morning. Well, 
I was eager to be sure that the almanacs had come — 
and a Cossack knocked me down because I called to the 
Governor’s daughter for news of the almanacs. And when 
Michael Alexandrovitch, the Governor, came to the 
sledge he found my father picking me up. I was bleeding 
and stunned from the blow. And the Governor was in a 

228 


FACE TO FACE 


rage at us — that my father should be making trouble — 
and ordered him to be stricken from the free gang 
and put back in the prison once more — and me with 
him.” 

“ But you said your father was killed,” said Katerin. 

“ Yes, as I say,” replied Peter. “ My father ” — and 
Peter inclined his head toward the icon in the corner 
over Michael’s head — “ my father was so broken in spirit 
at knowing he was no longer of the free gang and that 
I was to go to prison, that he ran after Kirsakoff. It 
was then that a Cossack ran my father through with a 
saber — and swore that my father had struck at the Gov- 
ernor with a knife — a leather knife which he pulled from 
my father’s pocket.” 

“ But did the Governor know — could he know — of 
this terrible happening? ” asked Katerin. 

66 Ay, did the Governor know? ” echoed Michael. 

66 Know ! ” cried Peter. “ What would he have cared 
if he did know? He had just ordered us both to prison 
for nothing! And did he care enough to investigate the 
case during the three months I was inside a black cell — 
to give me my freedom? No! He forgot all about it 
and me, even if he did know what had happened? Does 
he care now what the fate of you and your daughter may 
be? I tell you, sir, I must find Michael Kirsakoff! And 
you must be the one who puts me on the right road ! ” 

“ True, you must find him,” said Katerin. “ Now we 
know that you have good reason for wanting him.” 

“ Thank you,” said Peter fervently. “ I knew that 
when you saw my story as I could tell it, you would realize 
that above all things, I must find Kirsakoff.” 

“ W T hat was the name of your father? ” asked Michael. 

“ Gorekin — Peter Pavlovitch — a bootmaker.” 

“ Gorekin ! ” gasped Michael, his head snapping back 
in his amazement. “ Gorekin ! ” 

229 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


66 Have you heard of him? ” asked Peter, with a quick 
look at the old general. 

“ I thought for a moment I knew the name,” said 
Michael. “ But if you say he was a bootmaker, it must 
have been another. No, not if he was a bootmaker — and 
this man I knew less than ten years ago.” 

Michael looked at Wassili, and put a hand upon the 
table beside him, keeping the other under the blanket. He 
began to drum with his fingers, deep in reflection. No 
word was spoken for several minutes. Peter could hear 
Wassili breathing behind the chair. 

“You have our sympathy,” said Katerin. “And you 
must find the Governor. If you will give me time to talk 
it over with my father ” She gave Peter a signifi- 

cant look, which he interpreted to mean that it would be 
wiser not to press now for information about Kirsakoff, 
but to leave it in her hands. 

“ Thank you,” said Peter, and he rose, and bowed. 

“ You shall find Kirsakoff,” said Michael, staring at his 
hand on the table. “ By morning I shall know where he 
may be found — perhaps. We must not act hastily.” 
The palsied head was shaking gently, and the old man 
was lost again in thought. 

“ Yes, yes,” Katerin put in hastily. Peter saw tears 
in her eyes. She followed after him as he turned to go 
back through the rooms, and they left Michael and Was- 
sili alone. 

Peter stopped at his own door, and looking back over 
Katerin’s shoulder, saw against the light of the room he 
had just left, a shadow cross — and then the figure of 
Wassili peering after them. 

“ Good-night,” said Katerin. She seemed nervous and 
worried. She also had caught a glimpse of the old moujik 
outlined against the glow of her father’s lamp. 

Peter seized her hands in sudden impulse and pressed 

230 


FACE TO FACE 


them heartily. “ I cannot tell you of my gratitude, 
Vashka,” he whispered. “ It was you who helped me in 
this — and I have waited long! You are going to per- 
suade your father to tell me where I shall find Kirsakoff ! ” 

She gently drew away from him, and he released her 
hands. 

“ I shall do what I can,” she whispered. “ But take 
care — this house is full of enemies. If we are to defeat 
the Ataman, be wary. Bolt both your doors to-night ! 99 

Then she slipped away to her father. 


XX 


THE BLOW 

P ETER, alone once more in his room, found that a 
strange calmness had come to him once the secret 
of his purpose in returning to the Valle} 7 of 
Despair was in the keeping of two other persons. There 
was for him in that fact something of the relief of the 
confessional. For twenty years he had nursed in his soul 
the grievance of his father’s death, and his own imprison- 
ment — nursed it most secretly, pent it up within his 
consciousness, till it seemed that his body had become a 
kind of culture tube of germinating hate. 

For the first time since he had left Chita as a boy, he 
found an easement of his soul burden. These people to 
whom he had told his story, understood his deepest emo- 
tions regarding his father. No American could ever have 
understood fully, Peter was well aware. Prison to an 
American implies disgrace, some sort of stain upon the 
character which is never fully lived down. But to this 
old exile, as Peter supposed Kirsakoff to be, Peter’s story 
was an honor to him. For the old man had suffered the 
horrors of the exile system, mixing, as it did, the highest 
type of Russian with the lowest — the thinker with the 
cutthroat. 

Peter knew he stood better in Katerin’s regard than 
before, now that she knew his story. He had seen in her 
face a deep and profound pity for him. What he mistook 
for pity was her alarmed concern when she discovered that 
Peter sought to slay her father. Peter could not know 
that 6he had suffered torture while he had sat looking into 

232 


THE BLOW 


the lamp — that she knew how a look, a word or some 
turn of the head might betray her father. 

Peter had always thought that the first assurance of a 
successful end to his quest for Kirsakoff would mean a 
delirious joy. Yet here he was coldly calm, a calm which 
was a steadiness that he ascribed to his own efforts to 
control all outward indications of his grim satisfaction. 
His brain was singing, over and over, in an endless refrain 
— “ I shall find Kirsakoff.” 

He turned the light in such way that he could see him- 
self in the big mirror between the windows, and smiled at 
himself. His face was slightly flushed from the emotions 
and memories roused by telling how his father had been 
killed before the post-house, and how he himself had 
endured and escaped from the prison on the hill. 

His eyes burned with a feverish light. In fact, he was 
drugged with elation, strangely soothed, much as a man 
is lulled with wine till his senses are subdued by the poison 
and his reasoning faculties are benumbed. Yet his alert- 
ness was in no whit deadened. On the contrary, he was 
well aware of what was before him, and he was alive to 
the necessities of the situation. He was approaching his 
long-waited moment of triumph, and he knew that he must 
hold himself against the slightest rashness in thoughts or 
actions. He must, he thought as he surveyed himself in 
the mirror, avoid the look of craftiness which was coming 
into his face — he must feign a bland innocence, and 
dispel everything which savored of eagerness, impatience, 
impulsive haste. He had days, weeks, in which to carry 
out his purpose, and at last he was on the right track. 
Besides, it would avail nothing unless he could accomplish 
the destruction of Kirsakoff without leaving the hint of a 
clew to the identity of the slayer. 

He left off studying himself in the mirror, and began 
pacing the floor, head down and hands behind his back. 

233 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


There was a strange sense of satisfaction in the knowledge 
that Vashka knew his secret. He felt that it constituted 
a bond between them, a mutual sympathy such as is 
known only among exiles, or the children of exiles. 

In fact, Peter had created in his own mind a vision of 
Vashka that went beyond the time when he would have 
killed Kirsakoff. It was sort of an unformed, inchoate 
dream which consisted of nothing more tenuous than 
mental flits into the future in which he always saw Vashka. 
As she knew the secret of his coming back to Chita, she 
would also hold his secret about who had killed Kirsakoff. 
She would always understand, as she understood now. 
Only a Russian, a Russian girl who knew as Vashka knew 
the terrors of the Valley of Despair, fitted his idea of a 
confidant in this affair. Katerin, as 44 Vashka,” had done 
her work well ! 

Peter was now sure that Fate had a hand in everything 
which had brought him back to the place of his boyhood. 
The wihole thing had come about with an inevitableness 
which revealed a divinely directed plan. If some force 
had shaped events for him with such unerring accuracy, 
he saw no reason why the final result should not be brought 
about with the same ease with which he had come thus 
far on the way to his revenge. 

He had a feeling that the task he had set himself was 
now accomplished — the finding of Kirsakoff. His mind 
was at rest, and he felt the need of relaxation from the 
strain of wavering hopes and doubts. Also, he suddenly 
felt hungry with that voracious appetite which comes to 
people who pass the crisis of a severe illness and know 
without reservation that they are on the way to complete 
recovery. 

The fiddler he had heard on the floor above before going 
to talk with Katerin and her father, had now descended 
to the hotel dining room, and was playing merrily. There 

234 


THE BLOW 


were other instruments, too — an orchestra. The music 
was a novelty for the hotel. It lifted Peter’s spirits, and 
dispelled the gloom of the place. For the first time since 
he had arrived in Chita Peter wished to move about 
among other people. 

He washed at the little sink, and combed his hair. 
Then he went down the hall to the dining room. There 
were but a few people in the place — young men in Cos- 
sack uniform, with flashily dressed women, sitting by 
twos at the little tables along the wall under the frosty 
windows. The gloominess of the room was apparent even 
under the lights and the music, but it was the merriest 
scene Peter had seen in the city. 

There were four musicians on a raised platform at the 
far end of the room close to the red-painted buffet-bar 
with the smashed mirrors. And the quartet was clad in 
poor and ill-fitting gray suits — the men were German 
prisoners of war. 

Peter clicked his heels in the doorway and bowed before 
he entered. The officers at the table looked up with 
startled eyes, but inclined their heads slightly in response 
to the courtesy. But it was plain that his American uni- 
form had attracted special attention, for the women com- 
panions of the Cossacks stared at him. Peter wondered 
if there was any resentment because he wore his belt and 
pistol, though he could not understand how he had com- 
mitted any breach of etiquette by being armed, for the 
young Cossacks were all wearing their pistols and their 
sabers. 

The musicians played a German air, sadly, and with 
good evidence that some of the strings were missing. 
There were two violins, a ’cello, and a clarinet. 

A waiter came to Peter. The man was clad in the same 
bluish-gray as the musicians. He also was a war prisoner, 
and clicked his heels and was quite military in his manner. 

235 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Have you a ticket, sir? ” he asked, speaking in 
English. 

“ Is a ticket necessary? ” asked Peter in surprise. “ I 
am staying at the hotel.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the waiter. “ This is an officers’ mess 
— officers of the Ataman’s army.” 

“ Then I am sorry,” said Peter, reverting to Russian 
for the benefit of the Cossacks. u I thought this was the 
hotel restaurant. I had no intention of intruding,” and 
he pushed back his chair to rise from the table. 

6i You speak Russian, sir,” said the waiter, in Russian. 

“ Yes,” said Peter. “ And you speak English surpris- 
ingly well — also Russian.” 

“ Hans ! ” A young Cossack who sat two tables be- 
yond Peter, and faced him, called the waiter away and 
handed him something. The waiter was back to Peter 
by the time he had risen to leave the room. 

“ Here is a ticket for you, sir. The Cossack gentle- 
man — the lieutenant — wishes you to have your supper 
here,” said the waiter. 

Peter bowed to the young officer, who smiled across the 
shoulders of the woman with him. He was a thin-faced 
chap, with heavy black hair down on his forehead after 
the Cossack fashion. Gold straps covered his shoulders, 
and a great saber lay outside the table legs, where it 
swung down to the floor from his belt. 

Peter sat down again. It would be in the nature of 
an affront not to accept the proffered hospitality. And 
the waiter brought thick cabbage soup with a yellowish 
scum of fat floating on its surface, black bread, a plate 
of chopped meat, with a mound of boiled grains of wheat, 
and a glass of tea. 

During the meal the orchestra continued to play. The 
Cossacks and their women talked in low tones. Finally, 
they began to drift away gradually till none was left but 
236 


THE BLOW 


the young officer who had sent Peter the supper ticket. 
And in time his companion disappeared also. Then the 
young officer approached Peter’s table, and bowed. 

44 You are an American officer, but you speak Russian,” 
said the Cossack. He smiled and clicked his spurred 
heels. 

44 Yes,” said Peter, rising and saluting. They shook 
hands formally. 

46 1 am Lutoff, a lieutenant in the army of the Ataman 
Zorogoff,” went on the Cossack with pride. 44 I heard 
that there was an American officer in the hotel — and I 
was about to call upon you this very evening.” 

44 That is very kind of you,” said Peter, seeing that 
there was some purpose after all in the matter of the 
supper ticket beyond the characteristic hospitality of all 
Cossacks. He saw that he would have to play the game, 
whatever it might be. 44 My name is Gordon, and I also 
am a lieutenant.” 

Lutoff bowed again. 

44 Please sit down with me,” invited Peter, and they 
both sat down facing each other across the small table. 
Peter did not like Lutoff any too well — there was a 
craftiness in his eyes, an insincere suavity in his manner, 
an affability about him that was forced. His friendli- 
ness lacked a frankness which he did his best to simulate, 
but behind his smiles and his politeness there was a promise 
of lurking menace. 

44 You have not called upon the Ataman,” said Lutoff 
lightly, half in question, yet half in the nature of a 
statement of fact — perhaps a challenge. 

44 No,” said Peter. 44 1 was three weeks coming up on 
the train, and my health was hurt. I have been rest- 
ing.” 

44 1 trust you will feel better soon,” said Lutoff. He 
uttered the words as if he meant more than that — Peter 
237 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


caught an implication that it would be well for him not 
to neglect calling upon the Ataman. 

“ Were you intending to pay an official call this even- 
ing? ” asked Peter. He thought it advisable to probe a 
bit after Lutoff’s obscure inferences. 

“ No, just for a friendly chat. You speak Russian 
well for an American. You must have been in the country 
before.” Lutoff offered his cigarette case, a ponderous 
silver box covered with semiprecious stones of various 
kinds and studded with raised metal initials — mostly gold 
— of friends who had added to its ornate embellishments. 

“ My father was in business in Moscow. I was born 
and grew up there,” lied Peter glibly, as he took a cigar- 
ette. He had no intention of taking Lutoff into confi- 
dence about his early life. He considered that none of 
the Cossack’s business, and the personal prying a trifle 
impertinent. 

“ Are American soldiers coming to Chita ? ” pressed 
Lutoff. It was obvious now that he sought information 
for the Ataman. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Peter easily. “ I understand a bat- 
talion will be coming up the line. That is something I 
intend to take up with the Ataman — how many barracks 
are available in this vicinity.” 

Lutoff gave this consideration for several minutes, but 
made no comment. Then he looked over his shoulder 
toward the orchestra to make sure that no waiters were 
within hearing. 

“ As a friend, I wish to tell you something,” he said 
in a low tone. 

“ Thank you,” said Peter, but to all intents he was 
indifferent and smoked his cigarette with complacency. 

“ While I belong to the Ataman’s staff, I am not speak- 
ing officially,” said Lutoff. “ It is merely as one friend 
to another. You understand my attitude, of course.” 

238 


THE BLOW 


“Of course. Have no hesitation in speaking.” 

“ Then what I wish to say to you is that if I were you, 
I would not trust civilians who live in this hotel.” Lutoff 
looked squarely at Peter, as if to gauge the effect of the 
advice on him. 

“ Civilians ! ” exclaimed Peter. “ Why, I did not think 
of that. I supposed that nearly everybody in the hotel 
was in the Ataman’s service.” 

“ There are many who are not,” said Lutoff, a trifle 
annoyed by Peter’s coolness. “ Surely, you do not think 
that all civilians quartered here are in the service of Zoro- 
goff ? ” 

“ I am not so sure,” returned Peter. “ But why 
shouldn’t I trust them ? What is there wrong — or dan- 
gerous about the civilians ? ” 

“ There are spies among them.” 

“You mean they are spies for the Ataman?” asked 
Peter, not taking his eyes from Lutoff’s. Peter was 
somewhat amused by Lutoff, and was taking considerable 
delight in beating him about the bush. The whole inci- 
dent was so Cossack-like, so childishly dramatic. 

Lutoff shrugged his shoulders. “ The Ataman has his 
spies, of course.” 

“ And perhaps I have talked with some of them,” sug- 
gested Peter. 

“ Perhaps. But that is not what I mean. I only 
warn you to be careful.” 

“ You are very kind,” said Peter. “ But have you any 
particular person in mind? ” He wondered if Lutoff 
could be working along a definite line. 

“ You would be wise to avoid those people you have 
been talking with,” said Lutoff, and leaned back in his 
chair to blow smoke rings toward the ceiling, thought- 
fully. 

Peter laughed quietly. “ Rather a vague warning,” he 

239 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


said. 44 I have talked with several persons in the city — - 
just as I am talking with you.” 

44 You know the people I mean,” said Lutoff with some 
tartness, still gazing at the ceiling. 

44 I appreciate your consideration for me, sir. I assure 
3 r ou I would be glad to follow your advice if you will 
limit it to the people you evidently have in mind. But so 
far, what you have said might refer to anybody.” 

Lutoff looked at the table, twisted a bit of black bread 
off a slice which lay on a plate, and kneaded the bread 
into a ball of dough on the cloth. 

44 You have been talking with people in this hotel,” he 
said presently. 

44 Not many,” said Peter. He was sure now that Lutoff 
was referring to Vashka and her father, and began to be 
disquieted. Did Lutoff know anything, or was he merely 
guessing? Was it possible that a spy of the Ataman 
had heard the conversations with Vashka and her father? 
If so, had the spy heard Peter tell his story and his reason 
for wanting to find Kirsakoff? If the latter was true, it 
was likely that Kirsakoff already knew of Peter and his 
purpose, for according to Vashka, Kirsakoff was hand in 
glove with Zorogoff. Peter was really alarmed now. He 
wondered if Wassili was to be trusted. He wondered if 
Vashka was really a spy. He doubted that, for if Lutoff 
were in the service of Zorogoff, Lutoff would scarcely be 
warning Peter against Vashka. But the situation was 
dangerous, Peter knew well. 

44 True, you have not been talking with many,” said 
Lutoff. 44 But those with whom you have been talking 
— they are not safe for you.” 

44 That is quite possible,” said Peter, smiling. 44 Almost 
any one here is dangerous to a stranger. You see, when 
it comes to that, I am most discreet with you, Mr. Lutoff.” 

Lutoff bowed his head slightly. 44 You compliment me. 

240 


THE BLOW 


But I am not trying to mystify you or to frighten you. 
When a man comes and warns you, you cannot very well 
say he is a menace to you.” 

“ No,” said Peter. “ But your warning is vague. If 
it is to be of any value to me — who are the people you 
warn me against ? ” 

“ I speak of the old man — and the girl,” said Lutoff 
abruptly, and lifted his eyes to Peter’s. 

“ The old man and the girl ! ” repeated Peter, with an 
amazement which was well feigned. “Here in the hotel? 
I am not sure that I know whom you mean.” 

“ And I am sure that you do,” shot back Lutoff. He 
had dropped his polite indirectness and was ready to 
argue with Peter — almost ready, it appeared, to dictate 
to Peter on whom he should talk with in the hotel or the 
city. 

“ Then you know what you know,” said Peter calmly. 
“ But I cannot be sure what you know, unless you tell me, 
thus I cannot be sure that you speak as a friend. First, 
if I am to consider your advice, you must give me some 
assurance that you have knowledge of whom I have been 
talking with — otherwise, my friend, you are seeking 
information rather than giving it.” He had no inten- 
tion of being trapped into admitting that he had been 
talking with Vashka and her father. The Ataman and 
Kirsakoff might suspect what they liked, but Peter was 
not going to tell Lutoff anything. 

“ These people are hiding here in the hotel,” said Lutoff, 
resuming his kneading of the brown dough on the table- 
cloth. 

“ Hiding? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“From the Ataman?” asked Peter. 

Lutoff looked up with an angry grimace, and Peter 
knew that he had put one shot home. He had revealed 

241 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


some knowledge of the Ataman’s tactics, and he had satis^ 
fied himself that Vashka and her father were telling the 
truth. He had put Lutoff into something of a hole, 
which the Cossack might find it difficult to get clear of 
again. 

“ You had better keep your hands off this matter,” 
warned Lutoff. 

“ Oh, is that it ? ” asked Peter. “ Then this is a warn- 
ing about listening to people who have something to say 
about the Ataman, is it ? ” 

“You may judge for yourself,” replied Lutoff. 

“ I already have,” said Peter, suavely. “ I judge that 
you are not warning me so much against certain people, as 
that you are warning me to beware of the Ataman Zoro- 
goff.” 

“ If I were you, I would not mix in political matters in 
this city, Mr. Gordon.” 

“ You must remember that you are talking to an Ameri- 
can officer,” said Peter. “ Am I to understand that an 
officer of the Ataman Zorogoff tells me what I should 
do or should not do in Chita? ” 

“ I think the Americans wish to avoid trouble with the 
Ataman,” said Lutoff, with a bland smile. 

“ That remains to be seen — and is somewhat depend- 
ent upon how the Ataman Zorogoff conducts what he is 
pleased to call his government,” said Peter. 

“ Do the Americans intend to tell Zorogoff how he shall 
govern? ” Lutoff showed in his face that this was a most 
important question to the Ataman — it was what Lutoff 
was seeking for Zorogoff, and Peter knew it. 

“ They might even do that,” replied Peter. “ But it 
might depend upon the wishes of the bulk of the Russian 
people in this district.” 

Lutoff grinned. “ The bulk of the Russian people are 
behind Zorogoff,” he said. 


THE BLOW 


44 According to Zorogoff,” retorted Peter. 

Lutoff rose. 44 I am not speaking officially,” he said. 
44 Is that understood?” 

“ It is if you say so,” said Peter, also rising. “ But 
I am speaking officially. And I wish to thank you for 
sending me the supper ticket, and for your advice. But 
I cannot limit myself regarding the people with whom I 
talk in Chita, even to please the Ataman.” 

“ Am I to tell the Ataman that? ” asked Lutoff. 

44 You may tell the Ataman what you please of what I 
have said, or I am ready to tell him the same myself.” 

44 Very good, sir,” said Lutoff, and clicked his spurs 
again most formally. 44 But I can tell you now, sir, that 
you will come into conflict with the Ataman Zorogoff if 
you interfere — if you take any further action with these 
people to whom I have referred. And ” 

44 1 cannot consider your warning unless you make clear 
to me just whom you are talking about,” interrupted 
Peter. 

44 You still pretend not to know? ” asked Lutoff in sur- 
prise. 

44 I want names, not assumptions,” said Peter. 

44 Very good, then,” said Lutoff. 44 Let us not have any 
doubt about it, and then you cannot plead that you were 
not warned by the Ataman. I tell you not to mix your- 
self in this affair of the Kirsakoffs — old General Kirsa- 
koff and his daughter Katerin Stephanovna ! ” 

And Lutoff bowed again and walked directly out of the 
dining room, leaving Peter clutching at the table as he 
swayed before he sank back into his chair. 

44 Kirsakoff ! ” he whispered. 44 Kirsakoff — and his 
daughter Katerin Stephanovna ! ” and then his voice rose 
in a hysterical wailing burst of laughter above the playing 
of the orchestra. 


243 


XXI 


THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAW9 

T HE electric lamp on Peter’s writing table was 
still glowing under its shade, but it gradually 
waned as morning whitened the frost-bound win- 
dows. 

Peter sat by the table near the door. He was fully 
dressed, just as he had come from the dining room after 
Lutoff had warned him to have no more dealings with the 
Kirsakoffs. Peter’s left arm lay limply on the dingy 
cloth, his automatic pistol close at hand lying on its 
side. He was wide-eyed awake and staring at the door 
into the hall, as if he were waiting for some one to enter. 
His jaw was set grimly, and at the right side of his mouth 
his upper lip was askew, as if he had spent the night in 
thoughts which resulted in nothing but a cynical smile. 
His face was pale under the night’s growth of beardy 
stubble. The soles of both his boots rested flatly on the 
floor, and were pulled back slightly under his knees as he 
had gradually slipped down into the chair. His shoul- 
ders were bent forward in a crouching attitude, and his 
chin rested upon the front of his tunic. 

When full daylight finally vanquished the darkness of 
his side of the room, he lifted his head and pulled up the 
sleeve of his left arm to look at his wrist-watch. He 
thought a moment, as if in doubt what to do next, and 
wound the watch. He turned and looked at the windows 
behind him, rubbed his jaw reflectively with the tips of 
his fingers, and got up wearily to look for his shaving kit 
on the shelf under the mirror between the windows. 

244 


THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS 


He studied himself in the mirror, smoothed his rumpled 
hair with his hand, and went about the business of getting 
out his razors. But he pushed the kit away irritably, 
and returned to the table. He picked up his pistol, took 
a cautionary glance at the catch which was so arranged 
that it revealed the weapon to be ready for firing, and 
slipped the pistol into its holster on his hip. Yet he 
did not button down the flap of the holster, but sprung 
the stiff leather flap back and tucked it in behind the 
belt. This left the butt of the pistol ready to his hand 
for instant use — he could draw and fire it without the 
trouble of unbuttoning the flap. 

He went to the little wall sink near the wardrobe and 
dashed water in his face. Drying himself with a hand- 
kerchief, he went once more to the mirror and combed his 
hair with infinite pains. This done to his satisfaction, 
he stood before the door leading into Katerin’s room, in 
an attitude of listening. 

He looked at his watch again after a time, and as if he 
had made a decision, walked to the door and rapped 
gently upon it. He waited, listening. He heard nothing. 
Finally he went to the push-button near the door to the 
hall and pressed it three times in the usual signal for a 
samovar. Then he fell to pacing the floor, head down, 
and his hands clasped behind his back. 

After a considerable delay, the peasant girl who had 
served him when he first came to the hotel brought the 
samovar. She seemed to be still half asleep, and having 
set the samovar upon the table, departed promptly with- 
out so much as a look at Peter. 

He took a few more turns up and down the room till 
the hissing of the samovar drew his attention. He put 
the tea to brewing and waited listlessly till it should be 
ready. He drank several glasses of the steaming tea 
without any apparent relish of it or stimulation from it. 

245 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


He seemed in a stupor, as he sat staring at the floor, 
haggard and hollow-eyed. His face was drawn, and 
reflected the bitterness in his soul. He hunted his pockets 
for cigarettes, but found none. He looked under the 
table. There he saw a litter of flattened mouthpieces and 
matches, the remains of his night-long smoking. 

There came a gentle tapping at Katerin’s door. He 
sprang toward it and threw off the bolt. The door came 
open under his hand, and Katerin stood smiling at him. 
She did not look any too well, he thought — as if she had 
not slept herself. His eyes met hers, and he forced a 
smile. He bowed, and with a gesture invited her to enter. 
He did not look past her, but he was conscious of some 
one moving in the room beyond — her father’s room. 

“ Good-morning,” she said. “ I did not bring the 
samovar because I did not want to risk being seen in the 
hall.” Her voice was low, and there was a note of worry 
in it, as if she had already sensed something inimical in 
his manner, or in the close stale air of the room which 
reeked with the fumes of dead tobacco smoke. 

Peter turned toward the window to pull a chair from 
the writing table. 

“You — you are ill!” she exclaimed suddenly, giving 
him a look of concern. “ And you have not slept ! ” 
She took in the undisturbed blankets on his bed. 

“ Yes,” said Peter dully. “ I have a cold — a head- 
ache. But it is nothing — see — I have already had my 
morning tea and feel better.” 

“ I am sorry. You look as if you had suffered much,” 
and she sat down, still observing him with troubled doubt. 
She saw the exposed pistol in the holster, but refrained 
from anything which would indicate that she had noticed 
it. 

“ What about Kirsakoff ? ” he asked, as if they should 
get to business. 


246 


THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS 


His words startled her, but she concealed from him any 
indication of her inner alarm. 

“ I came to tell you,” she answered. “ We sent Wassili 
out through the city last night, to people who have under- 
ground information. And he came back early with his 
report.” She affected a quiet complacence, as if seeking 
news of her father’s whereabouts was a trivial detail of 
everyday life. 

“And what did he learn?” asked Peter, sitting down 
by the writing table with his back to the window. He was 
calmer now, resolved to play his part of utter ignorance 
of the truth about Kirsakoff. 

“ The last word that has come to Chita is that — 
Kirsakoff is in Harbin.” She looked straight at Peter 
to gauge the effect of her story upon him. 

“ In Manchuria,” he said, without surprise. “ In that 
case, we should go to Harbin. Could you and your father 
get away to Harbin with me? ” 

“ It might be possible — with your help.” Her face 
took on a trace of color as her heart began to respond to 
her rising hope that what she planned with Peter could 
be carried through. At least, he had interposed no 
objection to going to Harbin to find Kirsakoff, and act- 
ually had in mind a willingness to take her and her father 
along. 

“ But could we find him when we got there? ” he asked. 

“ We have friends there who know where he could be 
found. It should not be difficult — there are not so many 
Russians in Harbin, after all.” 

“You are a brave woman,” he said quietly. “You 
must know that this whole plan holds naked menace for 
your father — and yourself.” 

“ There is greater menace here,” she replied, looking 
steadily into his eyes. 

He wondered if she could mean that he was part of the 

247 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


menace. It was possible that she knew Lutoff had been 
talking — and that what Lutoff had said was already 
known to her. If the latter were true, she must realize 
that it would be impossible to manipulate Peter so that 
he would save them from Zorogoff. He dismissed the 
thought — she was bent now on leading him on a fool’s 
errand to Harbin, and once safe from the Ataman, dis- 
appear in the Manchurian city. 

It now struck Peter that it might be wise to get away 
from the Valley of Despair with the Kirsakoffs. Harbin 
offered possibility not only to the Kirsakoffs, but to him- 
self. He could hardly expect to kill Kirsakoff in Chita 
and cover his own tracks. 

“ Have you a plan for escape from the city? ” he asked. 

“We have talked it over with Slipitsky — the Jew. 
But my father is averse to having any hand in putting 
you into danger.” 

Peter smiled. “ Your father need not worry about 
that,” he said lightly. “ Did we not arrange last night ? ” 

“ True, but ” She hesitated to go on, and turned 

her face from him. 

“ Has your father changed his mind since last night? ” 
asked Peter, alert at once. 

“ Oh, no,” she said, looking at the floor. “ We — we 
thought you might change yours. You have not been 
sleeping — and perhaps you gave thought to ” 

“ I have not changed my mind about Kirsakoff,” he 
said when it was plain that she was not going to finish 
her sentence. “ I am still determined to — find him.” 

“We thought you might have changed your mind 
about helping us.” She lifted her head, and smiled at 
him. 

He saw at once that her reluctance to avail herself of 
his help was only feigned. She was too subtle to be 
over-eager in a matter which concerned her own safety 
218 


THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS 


and the safety of her father. She intended that Peter 
should be the insistent one, so that any suspicions he 
might have that they sought their own safety rather than 
Kirsakoff, would be allayed. She wished the trip to 
Harbin to be made on his wishes instead of out of their 
own selfish, if natural, desire to escape the Ataman. 

Peter laughed without mirth. 

“ We might not be able to find Kirsakoff in Harbin,” 
he suggested. 

“ True,” she admitted at once. “ He spends his time 
between Harbin and Chita. By the time we got there, he 
might be on his way back here.” 

“Would you advise waiting?” he asked. 

“ That is for you to decide.” 

“ Then we shall go to Harbin,” he announced. <c This 
is a serious thing to me. As I told you last night, I have 
waited twenty years to find Kirsakoff.” 

“ It should not be difficult,” she said casually. 

“ Not w r ith your help,” he said, with a play at enthusi- 
asm. “ If I find him, it will be because ” He 

stopped short. What he was about to say was that if 
he found Kirsakoff, it would be due to her. But that was 
not true — she was concealing Kirsakoff. Peter felt he 
owed her nothing there. 

“ Perhaps you w T ould prefer to wait till you feel better,” 
suggested Katerin. She was still worried about his con- 
strained manner, and not quite sure that the change which 
she detected in him was due to his feeling badly, as he 
claimed. She sensed an undercurrent of agitation, and 
though the reason of it was far beyond her intuitions, she 
knew he had undergone some change during the night — 
there was something hostile in his eye, something in the 
slow turning of his head which revealed to her the brood- 
ing rage which burned in his brain. 

“ I feel well enough,” he said, putting his hand to his. 

249 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


ruffled brow. 44 The pain has gone, but I feel dull and 
stupid. I hope you will forgive my — stolidity.” He 
forced a smile, and threw back his head and shook it as if 
to dispel a heaviness. 

44 When should we attempt to get away?” she asked. 

44 We should not delay, I think. Is it not likely that 
the Ataman will be down upon the hotel at any time? ” 

She shivered slightly. 44 Every minute is precious.” 

44 The sooner away, the sooner we shall come up to 
KirsakofF,” he said, and rose to take a turn about the 
room. Then he came and stood over her, looking down 
into her face. 

44 Take some more tea,” she said. 44 If we are to go 
away, you must feel as well as possible.” 

44 True, I must. Suppose you bring your father here 
— and the three of us talk over the plan of going — to 
Harbin.” 

Katerin gave him a quick glance. Once more she had 
caught in Peter’s manner a glimmer of the fact that he 
was holding himself in leash against an impulse to action 
which he found it painfully difficult to restrain. He 
frightened her a little, for there was that about his 
mouth, about his eyes, and in his voice which told her 
that this man was ready to slay. 

44 My father is still asleep, I am afraid,” she said. 
44 But I know all the plans that have been made. We are 
to leave by droshky — and Slipitsky will forge passports 
for us. The old Jew is very shrewd about such things. 
He helped many a man escape from — the old prison.” 

Peter wondered if her reluctance to let him see her 
father could be due to a suspicion that Peter already knew 
that her father was KirsakofL 

44 Droshky to Harbin ! It sounds impossible 1 By 
droshky more than a thousand versts in this time of the 
year? ” 


250 


THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS 


She laughed lightly. “ Not all the way, of course,” 
she said. “ Just far enough to get away from the city 
— down the railway far enough to get a train beyond 
where ZorogofF’s men are on guard.” 

“ But how are we to get through the cordons of Cos- 
sacks? ” 

“ An American officer should be able to pass — if my 
father and myself have forged passports. They would 
not stop you — an American.” 

He saw the cleverness of her plan. It was a bold move. 
And the Kirsakoffs would not have to risk having their 
identity revealed to Peter during any quizzing at the rail- 
way station in Chita. ZorogofF’s passport officers would 
undoubtedly hold Katerin and her father if they attempted 
to board a train at the station with Peter — and the worst 
of it would be, the old general would most likely be 
addressed by his name in the hearing of Peter. But the 
sentries of the cordon around the city would be more 
easily fooled. In the first place, they might not recog- 
nize KirsakofF at all if he were well wrapped in furs, and 
had his bandage about his face. Besides, they might be 
deceived by the false passports. 

“ Is it intended that we should go by night ? ” asked 
Peter. 

“ No, by day. The soldiers will not be so careful by 
day. By night, they might fire upon us, or hold us till 
morning in some guardroom while our papers were sent 
back to the city for examination. That is the advice 
Slipitsky gives. He says the best escapes are made 
by daylight, and the proper plan carefully worked 
out.” 

Katerin waited till Peter thought it over. He consid- 
ered the plan, looking thoughtfully at the window. 

“ You, as an American, can be liberal wfith the soldiers. 
Give them enough rubles to make them feel they want to 

251 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


please you, but not enough to rouse their suspicions. We 
will give you the money.” 

Peter found it hard to choke down the bitterness which 
rose anew within him as he listened to her elaborating her 
plan for his deception. He was tempted for an instant 
to laugh at her, and tell her now that he knew all he 
needed to know. Yet there was a queer comfort for him 
in listening to Katerin go on with her intricate scheme 
to save herself and her father by means of the enemy of 
her father. And Peter realized also that they probably 
did not contemplate going on to Harbin with him at all 
— they would slip away from him on the train, at some 
station — anywhere once they were clear of the district 
in which Zorogoff’s army held any power. 

“Does Wassili go with us?” he asked, thinking that 
perhaps the servant would be taken for the purpose of 
killing Peter once they had used him to get them free 
through the cordons. 

“ No, Wassili will remain here.” 

“What is the first thing to be done? ” he asked, as if 
anxious to get about the business. 

“ Send Wassili for the droshky and the driver who is in 
the plan — a man who can be trusted. That can be done 
as soon as Slipitsky has the passports ready. He was 
drying the ink this morning, over a smoky lamp to make 
the signatures fast and soften the wax of the seals so that 
the counterfeit seal could be pressed in. Then we drive 
straight toward ZorogofF’s headquarters, to make it ap- 
pear first that we are going there. But we go around 
the building, so that it will appear to the first line of 
sentries on the other side that we have just left head- 
quarters. That will make the first cordon willing to let 
us pass with scarcely any questioning. The next cordon 
will take it for granted that we are all right because we 
have passed the first — and if there is any trouble, the 

252 


THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS 


passports will let us through. The earlier we start, the 
better.” 

She rose, flushed with hope, which was engendered by 
the very telling of how they were to escape. 

“ I am ready when you are,” said Peter. “ Let us not 
lose any time.” 

Tears came into her eyes. “ We put our lives in your 
hands,” she said. “ God will bless you if you aid us in 
our escape.” 

“ The road to Harbin is before us yet,” he said with a 
smile. “ You and your father are not yet out of danger.” 

“ True,” she said, moving toward the door of her 
room. “ I shall have him get ready at once, and see 
Slipitsky about the passports.” 

Peter opened the door for her, and bowed as she passed 
out. He closed the door after her, and stood looking at 
the' windows of his room, the same queer twisted smile of 
the morning at the corner of his mouth. 


XXII 


THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 

P ETER paced the floor of his room, his head bent 
in thought, after Katerin left him. He con- 
sidered the possibilities of the proposed trip to 
Harbin in relation to himself and Michael. An escape 
from Chita, he saw now, would be most desirable for his 
own purpose, providing he was not being walked into a 
trap in Harbin. It was quite possible that Katerin and 
Michael would try to elude him in Harbin. It was incon- 
ceivable that they were not quite as anxious to escape 
from Peter as they were from the Ataman, for they were 
in full possession of his secret. And once clear of the 
cordon of Cossack guards surrounding Chita, they might 
be able to give him the slip. 

He had a desire to play out the intricate game in which 
he found himself enmeshed. He knew he would find it 
amusing to watch Katerin and Michael play at being 
fugitives from the Ataman with him, and then play at 
stalking Michael himself in Harbin — to see a man pre- 
tend to seek himself. And at any time, Peter could turn 
to Michael, and say, “ Thou art the man I seek.” 

The sheer chicanery of it had an irresistible appeal 
to Peter. Like all Slavs, he loved the dramatic for the 
sake of itself, and he enjoyed proceeding by devious ways. 
Besides, the fact that Katerin and Michael were deliber- 
ately deceiving him, justified his own deception. Peter 
had actually been sorry, as he sat thinking through the 
night, that the identity of Michael had been made known 
so abruptly. It had all come with such amazing clarity 

254 


THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 


and finality that he had found himself rather helpless 
when he realized that the whole business could be settled 
by the simple expedient of killing Michael without any 
more delay. He shrank from so hasty a conclusion to 
an affair which he had been dreaming about for twenty 
years. He thought that perhaps the Russian people had 
been caught in just such a staggering position by the 
easy success of their revolution. A whole nation thrown 
back upon its haunches, so to speak, and asking itself 
what it was to do now ! Their minds had been so occupied 
for years in planning and plotting to overthrow the Czar 
and his government that they had neglected entirely to 
think of what might face them once they were successful. 
Their plans had not gone beyond the destruction of the 
Czar, and when he was destroyed, they needed more years 
to give thought to what was necessary for the good of 
the country and the people. It did not seem quite fair 
to them that the Czar had allowed himself to be over- 
thrown so easily — he had destroyed their game, their 
one interest in life. So they began to sulk, and intrigue 
against each other. 

In the same way, Peter rather resented Lutoff’s direct- 
ness in revealing the fact that the “ old exile ” was 
Michael Kirsakoff. It made the matter of killing Michael 
so absurdly easy ! And the Slav insists upon making all 
things difficult — life, war, government — before he can 
enjoy them. He demands that Life shall be a puzzle, and 
examines its hidden purposes to discover why the Creator 
has tricked him into being a living being. He seeks a 
sinister motive behind his birth, and not being able to 
find one or to construct one out of his fancy, he kills him- 
self because life is not worth living unless it can be proved 
to be a sort of divine persecution. The Slav needs a lot 
of trouble to keep himself happy. Convince him that the 
purpose of Life is to make him miserable and he is content. 

255 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


But Peter had become almost wholly Russian again, so 
he could not fully consider himself in the proper light. 
He had no intention of letting Michael escape. But he 
had the bothersome idea that he had to begin all over 
again to run Michael into a snare — a snare of Peter’s 
own devising, and built so leisurely that the joy of ven- 
geance would have a satisfactory accretion of mental tor- 
ture for Michael. 

The old general knew that Peter lusted for his life, and 
this knowledge must in itself fill Kirsakoff with terror. 
Did not Kirsakoff live in dread of a look, a word, an 
intonation of the voice, which would betray him to Peter? 
And Peter knew that he had the power to precipitate the 
dreaded catastrophe for Michael at any instant. All 
Peter waited for now was the moment which would in- 
tensify the terror for Michael — that moment, perhaps, 
when Michael would consider himself safest. It might 
come at the instant when Michael would be ready to slip 
away from Peter in Harbin, exulting in the thought that 
he was about to escape from the man who sought to slay 
him. Safe at last! And then Peter could smile, and 
instead of saying, “ Good-by, my friend,” could say in- 
stead, “ Now, Michael Alexandrovitch, you die ! ” 

And so utterly Russian such a moment would be ! And 
how fitting, thought Peter. Was not Michael Kirsakoff 
living in a fool’s paradise and thinking that he could 
use his enemy to save his life from the Ataman? When 
he saw it from this angle, Peter was glad that he knew 
the old man was Michael. Now he could build Michael’s 
hopes, only to shatter them at the end. 

Once again Peter was master of himself and of the 
situation. He would play the covert game with the Kir- 
sakoffs — and Michael could not escape. Harbin would 
be better than Chita after all, for it offered a better 
chance for Peter to cover his tracks. 

256 


THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 


He had come to this decision when he heard the rattle 
of boots on the other side of the door which led into 
Michael’s room. Then the door opened slowly, cau- 
tiously, and presently Michael, the blanket over his shoul- 
ders and clutching the loose ends of the covering to his 
breast, looked in. The old man was crouched forward 
and he was visibly trembling. 

Peter thought at first that Michael had come sneaking 
in during the absence of Katerin below, to attack him. 
But he saw at once that Michael was alarmed — he stood 
hesitating in the door, looking back over his shoulder, 
listening. He had a blanket over his shoulders, and his 
hair stood up stiffly on the back of his head behind the 
bandages about his face, like the crest of an angry cock- 
atoo. 

Peter stood still. He half expected that Michael had 
come to the attack — that beneath the blanket Michael 
had a weapon. And there was no longer any doubt that 
the old man was Kirsakoff. Peter recognized him for 
the Governor at once, though the years had changed so 
much and the bandages which covered his cheeks hid his 
predominant features. The nose was still strong and 
arrogant, the black eyes now deeply set with age, the 
white mustaches which had once been black, though sparse, 
changed his appearance but little. 

This was the moment for which Peter had waited so 
long — but he knew at once that it was not the moment 
to strike. He wanted more time to deal with Michael, 
and the old man was worried about something which 
seemed to threaten from the hall. 

“ What is wrong? ” asked Peter. 

Michael threw up his hand in a gesture for silence, and 
did not turn his head, but continued to look back over his 
shoulder into the two rooms behind him. 

“ Some one outside my door,” he whispered. 

257 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Peter listened but heard nothing. 

“ Wassili has gone for a droshky, and my daughter has 
gone down to Slipitsky — I did not want to lock the door 
against her. But — the Cossacks have come — I heard 
them talking outside.” 

“ Come in here, sir,” said Peter. “ And we will leave 
this door open, so that we may watch if anybody enters 
and see who they are before they discover that you have 
come to me.” 

The old man obeyed, and Peter stood in the doorway 
looking into the Kirsakoffs’ rooms. The curtain between 
them was caught aside by a cord, so that both rooms were 
visible to Peter, the farther one by the width of the passage 
between them which was enough to reveal to Peter any one 
who might enter and pass it. 

There were a few minutes of silence except for the 
quick breathing of Michael crouched beside Peter and 
standing to one side of him so that he was hidden from 
the other rooms. And during this time Peter began to 
suspect that it was all a ruse of Michael. The old gen- 
eral was probably trying to catch Peter off his guard, 
and attack him. It was quite likely, so Peter thought, 
that Michael in some way had come to knowledge of the 
fact that Lutoff had apprised Peter of the identity of the 
Kirsakoffs. 

But Peter abandoned his suspicion when he heard a 
rattling of the door in the far room. Some one was 
rattling the knob in place of knocking, a practice cus- 
tomary when one wanted to enter without attracting the 
attention of those in other rooms opening into the hall. 
The rattling ceased. The next instant Peter saw in the 
gloom of the far room a high white cap of wool, and a 
gray sheepskin coat, and a Cossack stood looking in the 
direction of Peter, head bent forward against the sharper 
light from Peter’s windows. 

258 


THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 


The Cossack hesitated but a moment, then he advanced 
toward Peter, one hand behind him as if he held a weapon 
in concealment. 

44 What do you want? ” asked Peter. 

The Cossack did not reply, but came on till he was close 
to Peter. 

66 Who are you?” asked the Cossack. He moved 
slightly to the right and looked past Peter, his eyes upon 
Michael. 

“ I am an American officer,” said Peter coldly. 44 These 
are my rooms.” 

44 An American officer! You speak Russian well, for an 
American.” 

44 You are intruding,” said Peter. 44 Or have you come 
on a mission ? ” 

44 1 am Captain Shimilin of the Ataman’s staff,” said 
the Cossack, and put his hand on the hilt of his saber as 
he clicked his heels and bowed, formally polite. 

44 And I am Lieutenant Gordon of the American army,” 
said Peter. 44 This is my room. Please ! Come in ! ” 
There was no other thing for Peter to do, unless he wished 
to bring on hostilities with Shimilin. It was very likely 
that the Cossack captain had soldiers within call. And 
now it looked very much as if an escape to Harbin would 
be out of the question. 

Shimilin entered as Peter stepped aside. The Cossack 
looked at Michael, who had retreated to the low writing 
table under the window, clutching the blanket about him. 

44 Have you business of the Ataman with me?” asked 
Peter. 

44 No, not with you,” said Shimilin. 44 I did not call 
upon you, but I thank you for your politeness.” 

Peter considered what he should do next. He had no 
wish to see Michael wrested from his control in this 
fashion, and he had no doubt but that Shimilin had come 

259 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


for Michael. It was quite likely that Katerin had been 
seized when she went down to arrange matters with Slipit- 
sky. Peter frowned at the thought that Michael would 
escape him, even though the old general met death at the 
hands of the Ataman’s soldiers. It came to him that the 
limit of his vengeance now would be but to surrender 
Michael and taunt him with the fact that the Cossacks 
— his own Cossacks — could now deal with a Kirsakoff as 
they had dealt in the old days with a Gorekin. But Peter 
hoped to delay with Shimilin. It might be possible to get 
the Cossack away for a time, when Peter would have things 
in his own hands again, if only for a brief space. He 
began to see that his hand was being forced — if he was 
to kill Michael he would have to do it in Chita — probably 
on the spot, and that in the next few minutes. 

“ Could you tell me why 3'ou have come to my room? ” 
asked Peter. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Shimilin easily, as he faced Michael. 
“ I have come to arrest this old man.” 

“Arrest him? For what?” asked Peter, feigning a 
mild surprise. Shimilin seemed so casual, so light-hearted, 
so jaunty that he appeared to regard the whole matter as 
in the nature of a joke. He smiled good-naturedly at 
Michael. 

Shimilin lifted his shoulders inside the sheepskin coat, 
put out both hands with the palms upward, and jerked 
his head. “ It is a business of the Ataman. You speak 
Russian well. Are you a Russian? ” 

“ Yes,” said Peter. 

“ Of course,” said Shimilin. “ Only a Russian could 
speak so. Have you called upon the Ataman Zorogoff? 
What do you think of — our Ataman?” He regarded 
Peter with questioning eyes. 

“ I have not yet called,” replied Peter. “ I know little 
about the Ataman.” 


260 


THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 


“ You have heard about him here in Chita. Surely, 
you must have formed some opinion.” 

u No,” said Peter dryly. “ If I had, I doubt if I would 
discuss it.” 

“ Now, now,” said Shimilin, not in the least offended by 
Peter’s reluctance to discuss the Ataman, “ I know all 
that. But what do the Americans — the American army 
in Vladivostok — think of Zorogoff? ” 

Shimilin’s curiosity on that score seemed without limit. 

“ I doubt if they have given him much thought,” said 
Peter. “ But about this gentleman here — I am sorry 
that you want to arrest him. And in my room.” 

“What does that matter?” asked the Cossack. 

“ But little,” agreed Peter, who felt that he could have 
his way with Shimilin if the Cossack believed that Peter 
was not seriously opposed to having Michael taken. For 
Peter knew that a Cossack can be cajoled when open an- 
tagonism only strengthens his resistance. 

“ True,” said Shimilin, with a smile. “ We need have 
no quarrel. And being a soldier, you know what duty 
means — I must obey my orders at all cost. I am glad 
that you have sensible ideas.” 

Captain Shimilin evidently took it for granted that 
Peter had decided not to interfere, but would allow 
Michael to go with the Cossack. Still, Shimilin took no 
action. It appeared that he wished to prolong his con- 
versation with Peter, and his eyes when he looked at Peter 
were frankly curious. 

Michael leaned back against the table, his back to the 
window, watching Peter closely. The old general’s head 
nodded gently with the palsy, suggestive of being moved 
by the beating of his heart. He divined in Peter some 
sudden change of manner, and suspected that Peter was 
not going to protect him against the Cossack. But he 
said nothing. 


261 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ I would advise you to call later,” suggested Peter 
suddenly, affecting a serious mien with Shimilin. 

The Cossack was visibly surprised at this. 

“What! Come later? What difference can it 
make? ” 

“ It might make some difference to your Ataman,” said 
Peter, purposely putting a dash of mystery into the sen- 
tence. “ I do not demand, captain, that you come later. 
I merely advise it — for your own benefit. I can’t explain 
now — but if you will come back in an hour ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Shimilin, though not quite sure of him- 
self. “ I am not to be prevented from carrying out my 
orders.” 

“ I also have my orders,” said Peter significantly. 

“ Oh,” said Shimilin. “ It would be unfortunate if 
your orders conflicted with mine.” He drew his lips 
tightly across his teeth, and his eyes looked squarely into 
Peter’s. 

“ True ! ” retorted Peter. “ It would be unfortunate. 
But I have been talking with this old gentleman here 
• — and we have not finished our conversation.” 

“What have you been talking about?” 

“ That is a private matter between ourselves.” 

“ Ah ! Something about the Ataman, I presume,” said 
Shimilin, giving Michael a suspicious look. Then to 
Peter, “ You would hardly believe a man who is sought 
by the Ataman to have anything good to say about him 

— if you could trust such a report by such a man.” 

“ What this old gentleman has to say about the Ata- 
man — good or bad — is likely to be borne out by the ac- 
tions of the Ataman. You can see, Captain Shimilin, that 
if your Ataman did something which did not meet my 
approval — such as an arrest without sufficient warrant 

— I might be able to form my own opinion of the Ata- 
man.” 


262 


THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 


44 Hmm ! ” sniffed Shimilin, and walked round slowly in 
a small circle, looking at the floor while he considered 
Peter’s words. He stopped abruptly and faced Peter, 
one eye partly closed. 44 Perhaps you have an idea that 
the Ataman Zorogoff has no rights to consider? ” 

44 I have never questioned any rights that Zorogoff may 
claim,” said Peter. He saw that he had Shimilin wor- 
ried. 

44 But the Americans have not officially recognized Zoro- 
goff as a ruler,” went on Shimilin. 44 You have been here 
several days, yet you have not called upon the Ataman.” 

Peter saw in this an attempt to draw from him some 
hint as to the American attitude toward Zorogoff, and 
had no intention of committing himself on the subject. 

44 1 do not feel accountable to any person for my 
actions here, other than my superiors,” said Peter. 44 If 
Zorogoff seeks information as to the attitude of the 
Americans, let him send some one to Vladivostok.” 

44 Would you defy an officer of the Ataman?” asked 
Shimilin. 44 Would you tell me that I cannot arrest a 
Russian subject here in your rooms?” 

44 This man is under my protection while he is in my 
room. I have not defied you — but I suggest delay. I 
shall not attempt to control your actions.” 

44 You don’t want him arrested? Is that what you are 
saying? ” 

44 1 don’t want him arrested now.” 

44 My Ataman will not like that. It is interference,” 
snapped Shimilin. 

44 1 cannot help what the Ataman thinks.” 

Shimilin smiled and bowed. 44 Suppose I report your 
attitude to the Ataman himself? ” 

44 1 would consider that wisdom on your part,” said 
Peter. 44 There are some aspects to this case which I 
cannot discuss now. That is why I suggested delay.” 

263 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Shimilin clicked his heels and walked straight to the 
hall door. He opened it, and turned. “ I will submit 
jour proposal to the Ataman — if you are willing to 
take the consequence.” 

“ Thank you,” said Peter, bowing in dismissal. “ You 
are very kind.” 

“ And,” continued Shimilin, “ I shall hold you responsi- 
ble that Michael Kirsakoff is here when I return.” 

Shimilin shut the door with a quick jerk, suggestive of 
the closing of the jaws of a great trap. 


XXIII 


A LIFE FOR A LIFE 

W HEN he heard his own name uttered by 
Shimilin as the Cossack captain departed, 
Michael locked his grip upon the ends of the 
blanket as if against a blow. A startled moan broke from 
his lips, an expression of horror that at last Peter would 
know him. 

Peter turned upon the old man swiftly, alert at once 
and his own hand dropping to the butt of his pistol. 

“I — I am revealed to you ! ” whispered Michael, 
thrusting his head forward toward Peter. 

44 And before you were ready, eh? ” said Peter. 44 But 
you thought you could fool me, Michael Alexandrovitch, 
before ” 

Kirsakoff made a quick flick of his right hand, and 
there dropped down from the sleeve of his shirt a small 
derringer. The weapon fell into his hand, and he made a 
movement to adjust it for use. But Peter was too quick 
for him, and before Michael could get proper hold of it, 
much less aim it, Peter had leaped upon the old man and 
pinioned his arms against his sides. 

44 So the old wolf has a snap left in him yet,” taunted 
Peter, as he bore the frail Michael back against the table 
and wrested the derringer from his fingers. Michael made 
no struggle, but relaxed in Peter’s hands, and when re- 
leased, sank weakly to his knees. 

Peter pocketed the derringer, and then leaned down to 
Michael. 

44 You would kill me, would you? You have not for- 
gotten your tricks, Michael ! Perhaps you came pre- 

265 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


pared to kill me ! So the escape to Harbin was all pretty 

talk, to throw me off my guard that you might ” 

“ Mercy ! ” gasped Michael. “ Mercy for my daugh- 
ter’s sake — I ask none for myself ! ” 

“ You have discovered mercy. Who called for mercy 
for Peter Petrovitch twenty years ago when you ordered 
him and his father sent to prison — and then his father 
was cut down by your Cossacks? Answer me that? ” 

“ If my daughter were safe from the Ataman, you 
could take your vengeance,” said Michael simply. “ I 
have lived beyond ” 

“ Oh, hush ! ” cried Peter angrily, clapping his hand 
over Michael’s mouth. He slipped his fingers under the 
folds of the bandage about Michael’s face, and slipped it 
back over his head, pulling it upward from the chin. 

“ Let me see your face, Michael ! It has been a long 
time since we looked at one another — and each knew the 
other. On that day you were the bold, brave Governor, 
surrounded by your soldiers. Life was cheap then — to 
you. Come ! Stand upon your feet like a man 1 ” And 
Peter lifted him up against the table. 

66 1 have no fear of death,” said Michael proudly. 

“ No,” said Peter, laughing. “ You are so ready to 
meet death that you tie your face up in rags. But you 
look like yourself, Michael! Yes, I would have known 
you but for the rags. Life is not so strong in you, now, 
it is true, but you are the same, yes.” 

Peter stood before him, with folded arms, and scanned 
Michael’s face with reflective memory. He spoke quietly, 
almost soothingly, and his face was lighted by his joyful 
exultation. He thought of nothing but that his triumph 
had come, and he cared for nothing but that he should 
drink his fill of the wine of revenge. 

“ I am helpless now — an old man,” said Michael. 
“ But I can die — Gorekin.” 

266 


A LIFE FOR A LIFE 


“ I suppose you can,” said Peter, “ much as you would 
throw away a lemon that had been sucked dry. But I 
am thinking now of my father, twenty years ago. You 
were brave with his life, too — and mine ! I was a help- 
less boy and you left me in your filthy prison. I might 
be there now for all you cared.” 

“ Do your will with me,” said Michael wearily. 

Peter put a hand upon his shoulder, and bent his body 
back, so that lie might peer into the old man’s eyes in 
better light. 

“ You have not lost your cunning, Michael. I can see 
it still in your eyes, faded as they are. You thought 
that I, Peter Petrovitch, would save your life — I, who 
have come half way round the world to take it, I, who 
have waited twenty years to see the breath leave your 
body ! ” 

“ To save my daughter, yes,” said Michael. 

“Ha! Do you not see the divinity behind all this? 
You run squealing to an American officer to save you from 
your Cossacks - — and the American is Peter Petrovitch ! 
And now that your own skin is threatened, you plead for 
life because of jmur daughter! Did you give my father 
a chance to plead for his son? Michael, I am the boy 
who saw his father die in the snow before the post-house 
— and you come now seeking my protection from the 
Ataman ” 

“ A half-blood Mongol,” put in Michael. “ I would 
save my daughter from a Mongol — for myself I ask. 
nothing. And I would kill you if I had the power ” 

“ Stop ! I shall do the talking ! ” Peter’s body trem- 
bled with his rage. All the hatred which he had built 
up in twenty years, all the concentrated venom in his 
soul against Kirsakoff was now diffusing through his 
body and poisoning his brain. He lunged at Michael, 
and took the frail old body in his arms, swinging him 
267 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


upward from the floor as a child might be lifted in play 
by its father. 

“ Come ! ” commanded Peter, looking down into the 
white face of Michael. “ I will show you your Valley of 
Despair! I will show you the spot before the old post- 
house where I watched my father pour out his blood into 
the snow! I will show you where Peter Petrovitch, who 
now holds you in his arms, could but scream in terror 
against you and your Cossacks — and vow to have your 
life!” 

He turned with Michael, and thrust the old man’s face 
against the pane of the window, holding him high enough 
so that he could see over the stratum of frost on the lower 
part of the glass. 

“ Look, Michael Alexandrovitch ! Up the Sofistkava ! 
The post-house where the mail-sledges stopped when they 
came in from Irkutsk! That is the spot! And I cannot 
even find the bones of my beloved father in the old ceme- 
tery by the prison on the hill. And below — the little hut 
where Gorekin the bootmaker lived! See it? The chim- 
ney and a part of the old roof. It has taken twenty years 
for God to put you in my hands — twenty years, before 
He has let you, a leaf which is ready to fall, come into 
my power. Can you doubt that He let you live that 
I might show you where you stood one cold morning, 
master of lives in the Valley of Despair and death wait- 
ing the snap of your finger ? Times have changed, 
Michael. The light has come to Russia — a new day, 
and for such as you who gave us but black de- 
spair, black night has come. And justice without 
mercy ! ” 

Peter swung round from the window and threw Michael 
upon his feet. The old general swayed dizzily and saved 
himself from falling by grasping at the table. Peter 
stood glowering, arms hanging out from his sides with 

268 


A LIFE FOR A LIFE 


fingers widespread as if he were about to seize Michael 
again. 

“You shall have jour vengeance!” cried Michael, and 
held up an arm to restrain Peter for a time. 

“ Oh, shall IP ” asked Peter sneeringly, a crooked smile 
playing at the side of his mouth. “ Perhaps you covered 
your face that I might have my vengeance ! Did you plan 
to take me to Harbin to find Kirsakoff? Did you put 
Wassili behind my chair with a knife to ? ” 

“ Give heed to my words ! ” pleaded Michael in a pas- 
sionate outburst. “ I will bargain with you ! ” 

Peter laughed at him. 

“ Bargain ! Why should I buy what I already have? ” 

“ Look ! ” Michael held forth his hand to Peter. Be- 
tween the fingers was a small white pellet. 

“ And what is that? ” asked Peter. 

“ I could still defeat you, Gorekin. This is a poison 
tablet — quick as a bullet or a blade.” 

“ For me, Michael? Is it for me? ” sneered Peter. 

“ No, for myself. I can die by my own hand quicker 
than you can fire your pistol — and you must shoot 
quickly, or even the Ataman will defeat your purpose 
with me. But I would bargain with you, Gorekin.” 

“To what end?” asked Peter, somewhat amused, and 
curious as to the old man’s intent. “ What have you to 
sell, Michael ? ” 

“ I will sell you my life,” said Kirsakoff. 

“ I can have your life for the taking.” 

“No. Look! I hold the tablet six inches from my 
mouth. I could be dead before your bullet would reach 
me.” 

“ I like to hear your voice, Michael — speaking of your 
own death. Well, have your say out.” 

“ You are a Russian, and you must have your blood 
amend, Gorekin. You shall have it — I shall not destroy 
269 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


myself — but I ask you to save Katerin from the Ataman. 
That is my bargain.” 

“ My father and I could not bargain, twenty years ago 
out there in the Sofistkaya.” 

“ True. But I offer you now a life for a life — and a 
clean slate between the two of us. My blood for your 
father’s blood — and go your way in peace.” 

Michael leaned forward eagerly. Peter’s expression 
had changed so that the old man had hope, but Peter 
was merely astounded by Michael’s proposal. This was 
something he had not looked for in the old man — a calm 
willingness to take death as part of a trade, an exchange 
of favors. 

“ The old wolf has not lost his craft,” said Peter. 

“ The lion returns to the lair where he was whelped,” 
said Michael. “ What I was, I was, and done is done. 
What I offer is nothing, true — but you may fail in your 
vengeance. Rather I would make it sure for you — and 
go to meet the dead with no debt to living man.” 

“And how is it to be done?” asked Peter. He still 
suspected that Michael sought to escape him by a strata- 
gem. 

“ With this ! ” exclaimed Michael, and with his left hand 
he drew from the breast of his shirt a small slender object, 
one part red and one part white, and held it forth to 
Peter. “ Take this, Gorekin — I put vengeance into your 
hand — if you will save Katerin from the Mongol.” 

Peter drew near and looked at what Michael held. It 
was a cased dagger — a leather case of red, surmounted 
bv a hilt of yellowed old ivory and a steel hand guard at 
the base of the hilt. It was the weapon of Chinese assas- 
sins, an instrument made for but a single crime for it 
was cupped under the hilt guard in such a way that it 
sealed the very wound it made. Peter knew at once what 
it was and what it would do. 

270 


A LIFE FOR A LIFE 


“ Give me the promise — and take the knife ! 99 en- 
treated Michael. “ One Russian to another — to save 
Katerin from the Mongol ! ” 

“ And what should I do with it? 99 asked Peter, seeking 
to draw out the old general. 

“ What should you do? What else, but thrust it into 
my heart — and take my daughter away from the city? 
Come! Your word! Give it and strike quickly, or the 
Ataman will defeat you ! 99 

“ You know well I could not escape, leaving you dead 
in my room,” jeered Peter. “What would I gain? If 
I strike now — here — my vengeance will be a short joy. 
It is so much simpler to turn you over to Shimilin.” 

“ By the Holy Saints ! 99 cried Michael in disgust. 
“ Has the blood of a Russian turned to water so that he 
will not kill on his own honor’s account? Please! Take 
this blade ! ” 

Michael drew the hilt away from the leather case and 
exposed a polished shaft of steel, white and glittering in 
the light from the windows — a weapon of exquisite dainti- 
ness, with a round blade, slightly curved. 

“ Look at it ! ” urged Michael. “ It is cupped at the 
hilt, and if you do not draw it once you have struck, 
it will let away no blood. What more could you 
desire ? ” 

Peter regarded him with thoughtful eyes. 

Michael threw aside the leathern case, and pulled his 
shirt open at the neck, exposing his withered chest. 

“ Say the promise — and strike quickly while I pray,” 
he begged. “ See ! It is a gentle weapon — so sharp 
and smooth that it will cause me little discomfort. And 
then you may say I did it, which wdll leave you without 
blame.” 

For an instant Peter thought Michael to be mad. But 
it was plain enough that the simplicity of the old man in 

271 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


his appeal for death was but his surrender to the inevit- 
able. 

Peter knew the lucidity of mind which comes with the 
agony of spirit. He knew how Michael’s mind was work- 
ing. The old man was in the grip of that clarity of 
mental vision which comes to the drowning man, or to the 
man who walks to execution. Peter had experienced the 
same phenomenon as he watched his father die twenty 
years before. The trivial things of every day, things 
never noticed before, had stood out with amazing distinct- 
ness and had registered in his brain a picture which had 
never vanished. 

Peter remembered now the tiny stone he had seen in 
the snow near his dying father ; the Cossack’s boot which 
had been deeply scratched; the odor of raw fur from the 
sledges — even now the pungent scent was in his nostrils. 
The scene recurred to him now with overpowering in- 
tensity, and once more his old rage against Michael 
mounted. He reached forward and snatched the dagger 
from Michael’s fingers. 

“Good!” cried Michael. “You will promise — and 
strike ! ” 

Then the old general began to whisper a prayer, and 
stretched out his arms, like a great bat preparing for 
flight. 

Peter held the dagger in his hand, palm upward, and 
slightly extended before him, so that his elbow was a right 
angle with his upper arm, a pose somewhat similar to a 
man who holds a rapier in low carte ready to thrust for- 
ward the point. And he was close enough to Michael, so 
that if the arm was extended, the dagger would reach the 
old man. 

While the two of them were thus confronting each other, 
a low scream broke upon the room — a full-throated cry 
of sudden and complete horror. 

m 


A LIFE FOR A LIFE 


Peter turned to see Katerin in the door which led to the 
Kirsakoffs’ rooms. Her hands were thrown up and 
pressed against her cheeks, her staring eyes fastened upon 
the dagger in Peter’s hands, her mouth still open with the 
horror of her cry, and her body transfixed into rigidity by 
the astounding situation in which she found her father 
and Peter. The catastrophe which she had planned so 
carefully to avert, had come now, she knew. The delicate 
structure she had devised had crashed down during her 
absence, and she saw that Peter and her father were at 
each other’s throats, or so it appeared to her in the first 
glance she had of the interior of the room. 

She had returned from making the final arrangements 
for their escape, in happy confidence that Peter would 
never discover their identity — and here was Peter about 
to slay her father. She saw an end to everything — the 
man she looked to for safety was now to destroy them. 

She screamed again. It was a scream of utter hope- 
lessness, a scream of black despair. 


XXIV 


A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 

P ETER stood staring at Katerin, still holding the 
tiny dagger in his hand. A puzzled look had come 
into his face, as if he could not understand why 
she should scream. The mental shock which he had sus- 
tained in his discovery that the old man was Michael 
Kirsakoff, seemed to have closed some compartment of 
Peter’s consciousness which included Katerin in her rela- 
tionship to Michael. Now the full fact of her personality 
intruded itself upon him in relation to what had hap- 
pened and Peter’s brain needed time to readjust itself to 
a state of affairs in which Katerin must be considered. 

He lifted his empty hand to his face and drew his fingers 
across his eyes in a motion that suggested brushing some- 
thing away which interfered with his vision. He threw 
back his head and shook it slightly, as if to clear his brain 
of a vapor which befogged it. An infinite weariness 
gripped him, and his eyes regarded Katerin as if she were 
some specter which had formed out of thin air and now 
stood between him and his vengeance, possessed of a super- 
natural power to thwart him in his desires. 

The first of the three to move was Michael. He slumped 
down into a chair, and, lifting a warning hand to Katerin. 
said weakly, “ He has found us out 1 ” 

Her father’s voice seemed to release Katerin from the 
grip of her terror, and she began to move forward toward 
Peter, with slow, even steps, her eyes upon the dagger in 
Peter’s hand. There was no wariness about her, yet she 
had a quiet deliberation, as if she knew that it would be 

274 


A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 


safer to make no sudden movement and so startle Peter 
into resistance. 

Katerin approached Peter, and reaching for the dagger, 
put her hand upon its blade and drew it out of his fingers 
with the same gentle motion that a mother might use in 
taking a dangerous object from the hand of a child. And 
Peter relinquished the weapon, not so much in surrender 
as in a state of mind which was willing to forego for the 
present anything or any action in exchange for time to 
consider a new phase of the situation. 

Katerin recognized the dagger, more by the quick side- 
wise glance she gave her father than by looking at the 
ivory hilt which stuck up between her thumb. She sus- 
pected that her father had drawn the weapon against 
Peter when he had discovered her father’s identity, and 
that Peter had disarmed him. But she knew that just 
what had happened during her absence from the room did 
not matter now — the danger lay before her. She mis- 
trusted Peter’s temporary mood, and sought for an angle 
by which she might draw from him his attitude, or deflect 
him from any murderous intent. She knew that her 
father’s life hung in the balance — and her own — while 
Peter stood there silently staring at her, grim and forbid- 
ding and gathering impetus for whatever form his next 
impulse would take. 

u I trusted you ! ” she said quietly, and after she had 
uttered the words her mouth remained half open and her 
breath came gustily, like the breath of a runner who is 
spent at the end of an effort. She had been holding her 
breath since she had screamed in the doorway. She looked 
into his eyes. 

Peter’s lids flickered. His eyes were half closed, and 
still shot with red in the tiny blood-engorged veins at the 
sides. He looked at her dreamily, questdoningly, and she 
thought with something of insolent defiance. 

275 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Peter did not answer, but he moved his head slightly 
and looked past her at Michael, lips compressed, and the 
lids flickering. 

“ Peter Petrovitch — I love my father.” Her voice 
was low, entreating, consoling, and carried an infinite 
desire that he understand her suffering. 

“ This is the end for us ! ” piped up Michael shrilly. 
“ To the dead it does not matter how death has come — 
we shall take the poison ! 99 

Michael lifted one hand before him, and with the other 
tore open a seam in the cuff of his shirt. Between his 
thumb and finger appeared a small white pellet. 

Katerin was upon him instantly and took away the 
pellet. 

“ Not yet — by your own hand,” she said gently, and 
putting one arm about his neck, bent and kissed him. She 
turned to Peter once more, her courage stronger, a vague 
hope growing within her. But her eyes were filled with 
tears. 

“ Would you kill my father? Would you do the work 
of Zorogoff, the Mongol? And see me surrendered to 
this half-blood Ataman? You! Peter Petrovitch — a 
Russian — a Russian from America ! ” 

She was not so much asking him these things, as she 
was asking herself if he could do them. She was not 
afraid — she was hurt. It all seemed incomprehensible to 
her — that any Russian could ally himself with Zorogoff. 
could commit a murder such as he had planned. She 
understood now that she had not been brave in her deal- 
ings with him, but that she had never allowed herself to 
believe he could be dangerous even though her dexterous 
manipulation of him were exposed. 

“ Katerin Stephanovna ! ” said Peter, gazing at her 
with a trace of surprised awe in his tone and his look. 
“You — are Katerin Stephanovna ! 99 

276 


A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 


She divined something of what was passing through his 
mind — he was thinking of her as a little girl, in the 
old days in Chita. A look of hope flashed across her 
face, through she took care that she did not betray to 
him that she saw an advantage. 

“ I am Katerin Stephanovna,” she said, with a lift of 
her chin. She stood beside her father, one hand upon his 
shoulder to restrain him against any action, and yet in a 
posture which suggested defense. 

“ The same little girl — who was in the sledge — that 
morning of the almanacs and ” went on Peter. 

Her mind leaped ahead of him as he paused — she knew 
now that he was mentally reconstructing the scene of his 
father’s death, and that from it would accrue a new burst 
of hate, a fresh impetus which might compel him to action 
against the restraint which her presence had interposed 
between him and her father. She left her father and 
moved toward Peter, seeking to distract his thoughts by 
drawing his attention to her. 

“ Are you a true Russian? ” she demanded passionately, 
as she approached him. “ Are you a man of my race? ” 

He seemed startled by the question, and once more his 
hand brushed his brow. 

“ Russian? ” he repeated simply, almost helplessly, as 
if it were something that it had never occurred to him 
before to question. He looked down at his uniform, and 
then lifted a khaki sleeve to study the brown band of tape 
at the cuff, the band of an officer’s sleeves. 

“ Why, yes — I am Peter Petrovitch,” he said finally. 

He stepped to the window and looked out upon the 
Sofistkaya, and at the flattened gable-end of the little 
hut below which had been his and his father’s. Katerin 
drew close to him, and putting her hand softly upon his 
arm, looked into his face. Her own was drawn with 
suffering, and glistened with fresh tears. 

m 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


“ Peter Petrovitch,” she whispered, " you look upon a 
new Russia — the one you knew has gone. The old prison 
on the hill is empty ! Empty ! Thank God for it ! What 
more can you do ? ” 

He looked directly at her, and studied her face for a 
minute, his own face still reamed with the lines of the 
hatred which held his nerves taut. 

“ You trusted me? ” he asked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ You deceived me,” he retorted, once more himself and 
completely readjusted to the meaning of her return. 

“ Yes. To save my father. But I trusted you, too, 
else I could have avoided you. I would give my life to 
save my father, but it is too late now — I can neither 
save him nor myself. We live only so long as Zorogoff 
delays in coming.” 

“ You speak to thwart me,” he said bitterly. 

She turned her palms upward in a gesture of submis- 
sion and the slightest shrug of her shoulders, as if she 
had lost all interest in what the final result of what she 
said might be, and as if what he might do was a matter of 
little moment to her. 

“ I speak to save your soul,” she said softly. “ But we 
shall not quarrel about it — either what you are to decide 
about us, or about your soul.” 

“No?” he demanded, surprised that he should be 
nettled by her carelessness. “ But you are pleading with 
me now.” 

She gave him a look of surprise and laughed harshly. 

“ Pleading? For what? A few hours of life? ” 

“ You might both escape,” he suggested, “ by the 
droshky which you have so cleverly planned. That is, if 
I should let you go.” 

“ We could not get through without you. And what 
does it matter whether the Ataman ZorogofF kills my 

278 


A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 


father in the morning, or you kill him now. No, Peter 
Petrovitch, I plead only to save you from blood upon your 
hands — and to save your own life — the life of an Ameri- 
can officer.” 

At this, he thought of Wassili and smiled. 

44 I mean Zorogoff,” she hastened to say. 44 He would 
not let you escape, if you gave him reason to destroy you 
— if you killed my father.” 

44 You can argue for Zorogoff, who will destroy you 
both ? ” he asked, making no attempt to mask his in- 
credulity. 

She lifted her shoulders again in that same almost 
imperceptible shrug, and looked casually out of the win- 
dow. 

44 You can help America help our people,” she said. 
44 As for Zorogoff, I have death ready at my bidding for 
myself before he could take me to his palace — I can 
defeat the dog of a Mongol. But what do you gain by 
your vengeance upon my father? A few hours of his 
life! Is that the measure of the value of your venge- 
ance ? ” 

“ You think that I am too late — that I am already 
defeated in my purpose,” he said. 

“ Yes. You are, Peter Petrovitch. Time has defeated 
you.” 

44 No,” he insisted. 44 I have waited twenty years ” 

44 And after twenty years, you come back to what? 
Michael Kirsakoff and his daughter hiding from his Cos- 
sacks! The old governor, worse off than peasants, with 
death lurking at the door! The general of the Czar’s 
army, in flight and hiding like one of his own escapes in 
the old days! What sweeter vengeance would you ask, 
Peter Petrovitch? ” 

She spoke of her father and herself in the third person 
as if she were already separated from life and saw her- 

279 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


self in the detachment of death, looking back upon her 
father’s and her own end. 

“ True, times have changed,” said Peter grimly. 

“ Yet you had no hand in it,” she said daringly, con- 
scious that what she said might lift his wrath again. 
“ The tree of hate has borne its own bitter fruit, and a 
gale of death sweeps the land ” 

“ Ay, the wheel has turned ! ” cried Michael from his 
chair. “ And the water has returned to the sea ! My sins 
are my own, and judgment is before me. But I have 
offered my life to you, Peter Gorekin, for ” 

“ Do not heed him ! ” said Katerin to Peter hastily, as 
she saw his eyes flame with sudden anger. 

“ I have come all the way from America to hear him,” 
said Peter. “ Am I to be cheated ” 

“ America ! ” cried Katerin with fervor, clapping her 
hands together. “You, a Russian! Have come from 
America! And what are you to do with what America 
has given you ? ” 

“ And what has it given me? ” he demanded in surprise. 

“ America has given you its trust — you, the poor son 
of an exile, by the coat you wear, are an officer — a 
gentleman ! Ah, Peter Petrovitch, I had hoped that 
America had changed your heart as well as your coat 
— and taken something from you.” 

“ And what should it take? ” 

He scanned her face, seeking her purpose in holding his 
attention away from Michael. Her eyes held infinite sad- 
ness, and seemed to have lost any sense of terror. Her 
face had softened in final resignation, and he saw her for 
the first time in her own nature — the serene calmness 
which belongs to the Russian aristocrat, who is essentially 
a fatalist. 

“ I have heard much of America,” she said dreamily, 
her eyes on the window but her vision not extending be- 

280 


A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 


yond the glass. “ I hoped that you, who are of my own 
race, should learn a new lesson in America — that the 
spirit of America should take from you that love of 
destruction, that love for vengeance which is so strong 
in our people. Countless millions have been willing to 
die, and have died for Holy Russia. When is the Slav 
to learn that he must live for Holy Russia? ” 

“ Ah, those who have ruled Russia have just begun to 
learn how r precious is life,” said Peter. “ I learned the 
lesson out there in the Sofistkaya twenty years ago — 
it is you who are learning now — from me — and your 
Cossacks ! ” 

“ Yes, I know Shimilin has been here,” she said wearily. 
“ We have come to the end. I cannot ask you to save 
us, even if you could or would. That is done.” 

“You were willing — when you went down to arrange 
for the droshky. You could smile when you thought I 
was deceived.” His manner with her was easier now, and 
he seemed to be toying with the situation, testing her 
bravery. 

“ Yes, it was all a woman has against a man — a smile 
for a shield. And you thought you were deceiving me — 
you would tell to Rimsky what you would not tell to 
Vashka the samovar girl.” 

“ Vashka the samovar girl!” he repeated. “Vashka, 
telling me of Kirsakoff — a tall man in uniform, with 
black mustaches — a man in his full strength, stalwart 
— the cruel Governor who was behind the government of 
Zorogoff ! 99 

“ You were secretly seeking my father. It was my duty 
to learn your secret before you learned ours — a fair 
game.” 

“ True ! ” he admitted. 

“ I would save you now from the Ataman.” She gave 
him a quick and eager look. He misread her intent, when 

281 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


he thought she was turning his mind into new channels. 

“ Save me ! ” He was incredulous, and once more on 
the alert against some new plan to entrap him. 

“Yes, to save you, Peter Petrovitch! If Zorogoff 
knows that you had our story, when we are dead, he will 
fear your knowledge against him — and destroy you.” 

“ You should think of my safety at this time! Why? ” 

She bent her head and turned from him, but he took 
both her arms and swung her so that she had to look into 
his face. But she evaded his glance, though she did not 
resist his grasp. 

“ I can tell you now because of the barrier between 
us,” she said. 

“Barrier?” He was frankly puzzled. 

“ The blood of your father and your desire for venge- 
ance stands between us — that is why I can tell you, 
Peter Petrovitch, that — I loved you ” 

His hands loosened upon her arms, and a flood of tears 
was upon her — silent tears, which shook her frame. 
And Peter seized her again and threw his arms about her 
with crushing ferocity. 

“ Katerin ! Katerin ! ” he cried, and the next instant 
released her as suddenly as he had swept her to him. 

“ Oh, God ! 99 he cried, throwing up his clenched fists in 
a gust of fury. “ Have I been brought to my enemy, 
only to be tormented? What am I to do, my father, 
what ? 99 

Michael had leaped from his chair with a cry, and 
faced Peter. 

“What? What? ” demanded the old general. “There 

is love — love between you two — my daughter ! ” 

He was too shaken to frame more words, and his voice 
wavered and broke and lost itself in the depths of his 
throat. He stood with his frail legs bending under him. 
his mouth wide open and his chin quivering, gulping for 

282 


A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 


breath to give him energy to express the emotions which 
shook his body and rendered him powerless to express him- 
self. 

Katerin flung herself at him to sustain and calm him. 
still fearful that Peter might attack under the slightest 
provocation — and she was in terror lest her father would 
give vent to an outburst of anger. 

“ I shall speak ! ” he said gently to Katerin, and at once 
he was strong again, as if he had rallied the last bit of 
his energy for his new venture of resistance. Katerin let 
him go on toward Peter, who stood waiting to see what 
the old man might have to say. 

Michael sank to his knees before Peter, and held up 
his arms imploringly, while words began flowing from 
his agitated lips in a torrent. 

“ Give heed to what I say,” he cried beseechingly. 
** You, too, are a Russian! Look upon me, who once was 
your Governor! Have compassion upon me who am now 
but a bit of dried mud cast upon the road by the wheel of 
Time ! Have mercy ” 

“ So you have learned what it is to ask for mercy, 
Michael Alexandrovitch ! But you have yet to learn what 
it means to have mercy denied,” taunted Peter. 

“ It is not mercy that I ask for myself, Gorekin,” went 
on Michael. “ But you love my daughter — and I stand 
between you! Save her! Save her from the Mongol. 
And leave me, who am but some of the wreckage of Holy 
Russia, to suffer the wrath of this Zorogoff ! ” 

“ We two shall die together, my father — your fate 
shall be mine,” said Katerin, “ or I shall die by my own 
hand.” 

“ You saw me in the old days, Gorekin,” went on Michael 
in disregard of Katerin. “ Were those days worse than 
these? I obeyed my orders. I he’ld my power by the 
word of the Czar, and I bore his sword. Now I have lived 

283 


THE SAMOVAR GIRJL 


beyond my time. My day is done. I am not of these 
days. How does it matter the manner of my end? I 
shall soon be with your father — I, Kirsakoff the Gov- 
ernor, with Gorekin the bootmaker and the political — 
in the hills above us. Then let God judge my sins, as 
will yours be judged ! Take my daughter — she is all I 
have to give for the debt that is due you, yes, overdue! 
I am old, but my eyes still see, and I see that you two 
love! Take my Katerin Stephanovna to America, Peter 

Petrovitch ! Flee, both of you ” 

Katerin gave a warning cry and sprang toward the 
door leading into her room. She had caught the sound 
of running feet from the hall — feet in panic flight. 

“ Hush ! ” she warned. “ Some one comes ! ” 

Slipitsky, his black cap missing from the top of his 
head, and his eyes telling of his dread for something 
which pursued him, burst into the room. He clapped his 
hands to his temples in frantic despair in a gesture of 
hopelessness, too short of breath still from running to tell 
what he feared. 

“ The Ataman ! ” he gasped. “ God’s doom is upon 
us!” 


XXV 


THE FINAL RECKONING 

T HE door leading to the hall was flung open. 

Shimilin, the Cossack captain, stood on the 
threshold, and behind him was a group of his 
wild-looking soldiers, their heads hooded with wrappings 
of furs, and the points of their shining bayonets bristling 
about their shoulders. 

Shimilin did not advance, but remained in the doorway, 
coldly surveying those inside the room. He gave each 
of them a casual glance — Michael, Katerin, Peter, and 
even the shivering Slipitsky who stood cowering against 
the wall and whispering to himself through trembling lips 
and fingering his beard in nervous terror. 

“ The Ataman ZorogofF ! ” announced Shimilin, and 
the soldiers behind him opened a narrow lane, as Shimilin 
stepped aside and into the room. 

The Ataman pushed through the guards, and strode 
into the room, looking straight at Peter, stern and chal- 
lenging. The Mongol chieftain’s greatcoat was off, and 
his somewhat fantastic costume betrayed his childish love 
for personal display. Rising from the swarthy forehead 
was the towering white cap of long hairy wool, studded in 
the center of its flat front by a wide slab of crudely ham- 
mered gold half the size of a man’s hand, and in it set 
a diamond. At his left side hung a tremendous scimitar 
with a hilt-knot of gold fiber swinging from the guard. 
He wore a snuff -brown tunic with big brass buttons, blue 
riding breeches with double stripes of gold braid down 
the sides, and heavy black boots fitted with wheel-like 

285 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


spurs of silver. Plis shoulders were covered with broad 
straps of gold cloth. In his belt were a pair of pistols, 
the butts sticking up from the tops of uncovered holsters. 
An order of the Czar' hung from the top of a tunic pocket, 
an odd link between the shattered empire and this usurper, 
who was crafty enough to display upon his person some- 
thing which still had a meaning to many of his follow- 
ers and reflected a trace of the vanished glory of the 
throne. 

A pair of gold devices gleamed upon the standing collar 
of the tunic of the Ataman, and his long black hair which 
fringed his ears, was all the blacker for the whiteness of 
the woolly cap. 

Zorogoff marched toward Peter, his boots pounding the 
floor belligerently, his small black eyes burning with a 
glittering menace. But he stopped when he could have 
put out his hand and touched Peter — stopped with ar> 
abrupt and final thump of the heel of his left boot as he 
planted it close beside the right boot. 

“ There is the American officer,” said Shimilin, still 
standing by the door. “ That is the man, sir, who sent 
the message.” 

Some of the soldiers edged into the room and grounded 
their rifles with jarring thuds, and the others outside in 
the hall pressed forward, thrusting their heads in. 

Peter bowed. “ I am Lieutenant Gordon of the Amer- 
ican army,” he said with cold formality, and returned the 
Ataman’s angry stare. 

“ I have come to hear you oppose my will,” growled 
Zorogoff, a wicked twist to the corner of his lips, and 
venom in his eyes. 

“ And what is your will, sir? ” demanded Peter, putting 
enough deference into his words and manner to prevent 
Zorogoff from having any complaint on the ground of 
lack of civility or respect. 

£86 


THE FINAL RECKONING 


u My officers report that you have been in my city 
several days. You come here as an American and ignore 
me and my government.” 

“ I can assure you that you will not be ignored by the 
American army, sir,” said Peter. 

“ Do you, representing the American army, dare tell 
my officers what they may not do? ” 

“ I requested your officer not to arrest General Kirsa- 
koff and his daughter in my room. They came here to 
talk with me, and till I have finished talking with them, 
your officers must not interfere, sir.” 

Zorogoff’s breathing became audible to Peter, and he 
saw the flat nostrils of the Ataman twitch, and growing 
anger flashing in his eyes. But he did not take his eyes 
from Peter’s, nor was there the slightest change of ex- 
pression in the Mongol’s immobile face after that lifting 
of the nostrils. Behind the Ataman stood Shimilin, smil- 
ing sneeringly over the shoulder of his chief, in an obvious 
attempt to break through Peter’s armor of stolid pa- 
tience. 

“ My officers must not interfere ! ” echoed the Ataman. 
“ Is it that I take orders from the Americans? ” 

“ No, it is not an order, but ” 

“ Good ! ” blustered the Ataman. “ It is not an 
order ! ” 

“ It is not an order,” went on Peter, in the same even 
tones. “ But you must take care that you do not inter- 
fere with American officers. I tell you now, sir, that if 
these people are arrested in my room, I shall demand to 
know the reason for their arrest, that they are properly 
charged and tried, and given the nigtit to a proper defense. 
Otherwise it may appear to the Russian people that an 
American officer has betrayed this old man and his daugh- 
ter to you, and delivered them into your hands. I cannot 
prevent you from arresting them, from executing them 

287 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


if you wish, but I can reveal to the commander of the 
American army and to the people of America, the methods 
of your rule, sir.” 

44 I rule here, and in my own way. I ask no help in 
ruling from the Americans,” grunted Zorogoff. 

44 And the Americans are vitally interested in how you 
rule, sir,” retorted Peter. 

44 I rule as I please, with account to no one ! ” raged 
Zorogoff. 44 Captain Shimilin ! Take the old man and 
the woman ! ” 

44 Wait ! ” cried Peter, throwing up his hand to Shimilin. 
44 You are invading my room! I claim the only right to 
give orders here ! ” 

“I take Russian subjects where I find them, and I do 
with them as I see fit!” thundered Zorogoff, his face 
seeming to swell with rage at Peter’s words. 

Captain Shimilin turned as if to obey the Ataman’s 
order, but he hesitated, the same sneering smile upon his 
lips. He appeared much amused at Peter’s defiance, and 
only too willing to let him further enrage the Ataman. 

44 You speak of subjects of Russia, sir,” said Peter, 
addressing Zorogoff. “ Am I to have the honor of 
reporting that the Ataman Zorogoff occupies the 
throne of all the RussiasP And perhaps part of Mon- 
golia? ” 

Zorogoff made a grimace, and the flesh about his eyes 
crinkled tightly. Peter saw that he had struck a vital 
spot in the pride of Zorogoff, and had touched upon a 
matter which revealed some of Zorogoff’s power as a pre- 
tender — his strength came from his affinity with Asiatic 
people through his Asiatic blood. His leadership was 
racial, for he was exploiting his Mongol heritage and 
behind him were princes of ancient Tartary whispering 
against white ascendancy in their own land. 

44 That is the Russian speaking,” said Zorogoff, 44 not 

288 


THE FINAL RECKONING 


the American! You turned your back on your own 
people, and come now in a strange coat to give orders 
with ” 

“ I came to give you warning that America will not 
allow you to persecute and kill a helpless old man and a 
defenseless woman ! To keep your hands off helpless 

” Peter checked himself in sheer wonderment at his 

own words — he who had come to kill the helpless old 
father of Katerin, suddenly found himself defending the 
very man he had waited twenty years to slay ! “ America 

will not allow you to persecute and kill,” he repeated 
weakly, as if it were an idea which he had just discovered! 
And he had ! For the first time in his life he had been able 
to express the Americanism which he had acquired in 
twenty years. It was something that had overgrown his 
spirit and had smothered all unknowingly to him the 
smoldering fires within him which impelled him finally to 
seek the blood vengeance of the Slav ! 

“ Take the Kirsakoffs away!” ordered Zorogoff, turn- 
ing to Shimilin in the instant of what seemed to him Pe- 
ter’s indecision. “No Russian, even in an American uni- 
form, can oppose my will here, or ” 

A small object came hurtling through the air past 
Peter, and struck the Ataman in the face. It was a heavy 
pocket-knife, with the blades closed, and its end, capped 
with curved grooves, left three short gashes parallel in the 
cheek of Zorogoff, before it ricocheted against the wall 
and clattered to the floor. 

Michael sprang forward closely after the missile which 
he had hurled at the Ataman, and thrust forward his fists, 
past Peter. 

“ God’s curse upon you ! ” screamed Michael, his voice 
rising to a shrill shriek. The Ataman stepped back, and 
put his hands to his face, and then looked at the tips of 
his fingers covered with blood. He regarded them 

289 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


thoughtfully for the fraction of a second, a look of sur- 
prise in his eyes. 

Shimilin spoke in restraint to his soldiers, for they had 
started forward into the room, their bayonets coming up 
aslant. 

Michael pushed forward and thrust his fists into the 
Ataman’s face, the body of the old general coming be- 
tween Peter and Zorogoff, so that Peter’s view of Zorogoff 
was temporarily cut off. And in that time Zorogoff drew 
a pistol, and fired, the crash of its report booming out 
above the startled cries of Katerin and Slipitsky and 
the high-pitched shrilling of Michael at his enemy. Zoro- 
goff’s bullet almost lifted Michael from his feet, being 
fired from the hip and upward into Michael’s breast. 
The old general swung half round and then staggered 
backward and fell with startling impact across the low 
writing table. 

Peter turned to look after Michael, just as Katerin 
came plunging toward the Ataman, who stood partly 
hidden in a cloud of gray smoke. Peter caught the flash 
of the naked blade — the blade of the small dagger which 
Michael had handed to Peter and which had been taken 
from Peter’s hand by Katerin. 

Peter clutched after her, fearful of the consequences 
of another attack upon Zorogoff. But she eluded his 
grasp, and lunged straight forward into the smoke about 
Zorogoff, to bury the dagger to its hilt in the Ataman’s 
neck at the base of the standing collar of his tunic. 

Zorogoff gave a gurgling cry and the heavy pistol fell 
from his hand. He threw up his arms and then clawed 
at his throat as his knees gave beneath him — and pitched 
forward at Peter’s feet to the ringing clatter of the great 
scimitar against the floor. 

Peter caught Katerin in his arms as she reeled back, 
and held her, his left hand flying to his own pistol to be 
290 


THE FINAL RECKONING 


ready against the expected attack from Shimilin and the 
soldiers. But Shimilin stood with his arm raised to hold 
the soldiers in check, his eyes upon the dying Ataman. 

Peter stood thus holding Katerin for a minute, as she 
cried incoherently. Slipitsky had run to Michael and had 
lifted the old general down into a chair and the moans 
of the stricken general came above the wailing of the 
Jew. Peter gave no heed to them but held his pistol 
with the barrel half downward and watched the soldiers 
pressed about the door, fearing that Shimilin would not 
prevent them from using their rifles. Peter knew well 
that there was no hope of coming out of a fight alive, but 
he knew that a weapon had a restraining effect if not 
aimed at any particular person. 

The Ataman lay face down upon the floor, his back 
hunching up spasmodically, as if he were struggling to 
get to his feet. At times he drew his knees up, and then 
his toes would slip back and he would fall upon the scimi- 
tar with a musical clang, his life gurgling out through his 
lips in a crimson stream. Presently he lay still, stretched 
out at full length, his spurs sticking up from the heels of 
his boots, the gold knot of the scimitar hilt at his left 
side, and the toe of the scabbard showing at the right, 
and his great white cap near his head on the floor. 

Shimilin spoke first. “ Go and tell Bouran that the 
Ataman is dead,” he ordered one of his men. “ But let 
no one else know. You others stand outside and let no 
one enter or have knowledge of w T hat has happened here.” 

Katerin recovered herself and slipped from Peter’s arm. 
She looked round wildly, and then went to her father. 
He lay back against the chair, held upright by Slipitsky, 
though the old general’s body swayed from side to side 
as he was gripped by the tremors of his agony. His 
hands were clutched to his breast, holding the old peas- 
ant’s coat against his wound. 

291 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


Peter followed after Katerin, for he felt now that what- 
ever Shimilin intended against them in retaliation for the 
killing of the Ataman would not come in the form of sum- 
mary action. Katerin was on her knees before her father, 
speaking to him tenderly in her anguish for him, and at 
times sobbing out prayers. 

Michael opened his eyes and stared up at Peter, and let 
his hands fall upon Katerin’s head. A spasm of pain 
crossed his graying face, and he opened his mouth several 
times before he could speak. 

“Save her!” he gasped to Peter. “Now I — no 

longer stand between you — forgive — forgive ” 

His breath failed him, and his breast heaved as he was 
shook by a mighty convulsion. 

“ Die in peace, Michael Kirsakoff,” said Peter. “ I 
forgive.” 

Michael recovered himself for a brief space. 

“ Good ! ” he whispered. “ Every man has his wolf to 
kill, but it is better — I was but a millstone hanging from 
her neck — but now you can save her — you forgive ” 

“ As I hope to be forgiven, I forgive,” said Peter, put- 
ting his face down close to Michael. “ Do you hear me, 
Michael Alexandrovitch ? ” 

A smile came into Michael’s pain-tortured face — a 
smile of helpless assent, with which was mingled his joy 
at Peter’s words. But still he was troubled, and his 
head shook with his effort to express his further wishes. 

“ Save her — from the Ataman ! ” he pleaded. 

“ The Ataman is dead,” said Peter. “ Look ! There 
upon the floor ! ” 

Michael’s eyes roved as Peter stepped aside, and finally 
rested upon the prone body of Zorogoff. 

“ A-h-h ! ” cried Michael. “ The Ataman submits to 
the general of his Emperor ! My Katerin, do not be sad 
for me — let the birds sing for both of you — I go happy 
292 


THE FINAL RECKONING 


— God’s blessing upon you both — Gorekin — I, who go 
to meet the dead, sal — ute ” 

Shimilin came and stood beside Peter. The Cossack 
captain drew off his cap, crossed himself, and uttered a 
few words of prayer. Michael’s dimming eyes saw him — 
and revealed a new terror. 

“ Shimilin ! ” he gasped. 

“ Have no fear of me, Michael Alexandrovitch,” said 
Shimilin. “ You, nor your daughter need have no fear 
of me.” 

Peter glanced at Shimilin in surprise, for the Cossack 
captain was strangely gentle and sympathetic for a man 
who might be expected to take vengeance for the slaying 
of his chief. 

“ I saved you both from Zorogoff, the time at the 
house,” said Shimilin. “ It was I who prevented an execu- 
tion because you would not give up your money. If 
you had trusted me and given me the money, I would have 
protected you, for I could have been Ataman then — as 
I am the Ataman now.” 

“ You have succeeded Zorogoff? ” asked Peter, in 
startled amazement. 

“ I am the new Ataman,” repeated Shimilin. “ We 
Cossacks had a plot, but all was not ready ” 

“ God’s blessing — on — my little ” 

Michael’s head fell forward upon his chest, and he was 
dead. 

Katerin gave a wailing cry and put her hands tenderly 
upon the cheeks of her father. Peter and Shimilin turned 
away to leave her with her dead, while Slipitsky stole out 
into the other room to return with the icon from the corner 
in which stood Michael’s bed. The Jew put the sacred 
image into the wasted hands of him who had been Michael 
Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, governor and general of the 
Czars in the Valley of Despair. 

293 


XXVI 


FAREWELL 

T HE morning was cold and foggy. Through the 
gray and frozen haze came the sounds of voices, 
the creaking of boots, the j angle of a distant bell 
from the horses of a troika — a ghostly world filled with 
ghostly shapes, hidden, yet full of unseen life. It was 
just such a morning as that one in the past when Peter 
Petrovitch waited for the Czar’s mail, and the column of 
unfortunates went clanking out into the wilderness to cut 
wood under a guard of Cossack soldiers. 

And he who had been Peter Petrovitch sat this morning 
by the window of his room in the Dauria Hotel and gazed 
out over the world of floating mists — Lieutenant Peter 
Gordon of the United States Army. In the hall, outside 
his door, were two tall Cossack soldiers with their rifles, on 
guard. 

A week had passed since the killing of the Ataman Zoro- 
goff and the death of Kirsakoff. There had been a mutiny 
and an attempt by partisans of ZorogofF to kill Shimilin, 
the new Ataman. But the Cossacks were behind Shimilin, 
and the Mongols and other bandits who had stood with 
ZorogofF found their power broken, their intrigues be- 
trayed and their leaders dead after firing squads. The 
survivors fled up and down the railroad. The regime of 
ZorogofF was at an end, with its looting, its terrorism, its 
mailed fist which demanded tribute in exchange for pro- 
tection. 

The body of ZorogofF was not buried in Chita. The 
second day after his death, there appeared in the city, 

294 * 


FAREWELL 


from down Urga way, a lama from Outer Mongolia with 
frosty whiskers, a pinnacle cap and a greatcoat of fine 
fur with sleeves which reached to the ground. He came 
with a retinue mounted on camels, and the leading man 
held aloft a small purple banner which caused many men 
to submit their necks when they saw it pass. For some- 
where down in the mountains to the south in the khanates 
of the Kalkas tribes, there was a Prince, and when he 
spoke, it was an order — an order to be obeyed. 

And this lama of grave face and the tall cap summoned 
the Ataman Shimilin and bartered for the body of Zoro- 
goff, who was half Mongol by blood, and that half of 
interest to the holy men of Forbidden Tibet. Shimilin, 
being w r ise in such things, knew how' much he could ask 
to the ultimate jew r el — and got it. And as the lama 
traded with Shimilin, there were hints of many more men 
from Mongolia lurking outside the city, hidden by the 
fog. A line of tiny fires gleamed at the edge of the plain, 
the Cossack outposts heard the grunting of baggage 
camels, and the murmur of countless voices drifted in 
through the fog. 

So ZorogofF’s body was slung up between the humps of a 
Bactrian camel, and the animal went swaying off through 
the mist, with ZorogofF’s head nodding at the ground of 
ancient Tartary in his last farewell. 

Of these things Peter knew little. He was still in 
danger, as was Katerin, for there were many in Chita 
who sought a way to avenge ZorogofF. There were few 
persons who knew Katerin had killed him, but such knowl- 
edge spreads easily in Asia, where there are so many 
ears listening, so many eyes watching, so many tongues 
whispering in strange tongues. So Shimilin kept a guard 
over the hotel, and in it, to see that Peter and Katerin 
were well protected. 

And Peter had seen little of Katerin during the week. 

295 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


He had attended the military funeral at daybreak which 
Shimilin had granted the old general. Katerin was 
there, hidden and hemmed in among the Cossacks who had 
served under her father. Few knew who was being buried 
in the cemetery on the hillside above the ruin of the old 
prison. So it was that General Kirsakoff became a part 
of the Valley of Despair which he had ruled. 

Katerin seemed to avoid Peter after the funeral. She 
kept to her own rooms, with Wassili, except the night they 
went with Shimilin and his soldiers to the old log house 
and retrieved the fortune in rubles which was hidden in 
the stove. 

Peter waited till the days had softened her sorrow. He 
knew she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, as he did 
with his own. He had no way of knowing how her 
thoughts would turn in relation to him, but one fact made 
him happy — Katerin was safe for the time being. He 
did not know that she possessed a fortune, and he sup- 
posed that she would want to remain in Chita. He did 
not want her to feel any debt toward him for having 
helped her against the Ataman Zorogoff, and he did not 
want to presume upon the fact that while she was under 
the stress of death she had admitted her love for him. 
There was a barrier between them he well knew — the bar- 
rier of the circumstance that Peter would never have been 
in Chita if he had not sought to kill her father; and 
behind that, the circumstance that Peter had held her 
father responsible for the killing of his own father, and 
his own imprisonment. Peter knew there was nothing 
which could wipe out those accursed facts, and that they 
would hover over all thoughts Katerin might have for him. 
He saw himself fettered by bonds of his own making — 
and in the gyves of his love for her. 

And how much he loved Katerin was just beginning to 
break upon him with the full fury of an emotion which had 

29 6 


FAREWELL 


long been pent within his heart. He had loved Russia 
and his own kind ; not the machinery of government which 
had been known as Russia, but the land, the very soil — 
hills, plains, and valleys. This love of his homeland was 
now centered upon Katerin, for she had become to him a 
personification of his own Russia, stricken and deserted 
by the rest of the world. And he was possessed of a 
passion to make amends for the vengeance which he 
nursed against her father. He longed to cherish and 
protect Katerin, to show her the land which had done 
so much for him, to take her by the hand and walk 
with her in the streets of the city where he learned that 
every man may work out his own destiny without the 
handicap of a system of government which measures what 
each man may do and not do according to the rank of 
his father — the land where the boy from a cabin may be- 
come a Lincoln ! 

In his soul, Peter felt that he had betrayed America. 
Though he had not killed Kirsakoff, Peter suffered tor- 
ment that Katerin knew how madly he had sought to 
kill. And he feared that she would blame America, and 
not him, for keeping alive that love for vengeance. 

He passed the days pacing the floor of his room, or 
sitting by the window. At times he was tempted to quit 
the city and never see Katerin again. But he could 
not do it. He preferred to take his punishment by 
having her tell him to go — at least, he could fill that 
place in his consciousness which had harbored hatred 
for Michael Kirsakoff with the sorrow that Kirsakoff’s 
daughter loved him yet would not face life with him. 
He felt that it would all be easier to bear if he carried 
with him a memory of his parting from her which would 
always lash him for the dreadful plan which he had 
devised and all but carried out. 

As he sat there by the window this morning, there 

297 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


came a knock at the door. He admitted a messenger 
from Ataman Shimilin — a tall young Cossack with boyish 
face and filled with pride at the thought that once more 
his own people controlled the city. He saluted and 
clicked his polished steel spurs quite as if he were in the 
presence of royalty. 

“ From the Ataman ! ” he announced, and bowed as he 
handed a letter to Peter. It read: 

I send two officers of my staff to-day to Vladivostok to 
make report to the American commander that I, Shimilin, am 
now Ataman, and that my government shall be just. I have 
taken the private car of ZorogofF, and knowing that you intend 
to return to Vladivostok soon, perhaps you would like to 
travel by this wagon. It is advisable to go aboard the car, 
which now stands in the station yards, while the fog still 
holds, and be picked up by the next train. If you have any 
friends to go with you, the station commandant is at your 
orders. The Irkutsk train for Vladivostok will be here within 
an hour, and it will pick up one of my armored cars for 
safety. Perhaps you will be able to report to your superiors 
that all Cossacks are not robbers and that we desire only the 
salvation of our Russia. I salute you and America. 

Shimilin, Ataman. 

Peter stepped to the writing table, picked up a pen, 
and wrote on a slip of paper: 

I shall go at once. Thank you for the kindness. I hope 
to see the Ataman before I depart from his city. 

Peter Gordon, Lieutenant. 

The messenger bowed, clicked, and left the room, and 
Peter gathered his blankets and made them into a roll. 
Then he paused a minute, thoughtfully — and finally 
knocked upon the door leading to Katerin’s rooms. 

The old serving woman who had been at the log house 
opened the door just enough to peep through. 

298 


FAREWELL 


“ Tell your mistress that the American officer wishes 
to say good-by, please,” said Peter, and the door closed 
at once. 

Peter was stricken w T ith chagrin and disappointment. 
He thought that Katerin might not see him and had given 
her orders to that effect to her servant. He had ex- 
pected that the door would open for him — and it had 
closed upon his request to see Katerin. He stood for 
a moment, wondering if he should not go down to Slip- 
itsky at once, pay his bill, and go on to the car which 
stood in the station yard. 

Then the door opened, and Katerin herself stood before 
him — a Katerin that he had never seen. She wore now, 
instead of the poor garments in which he had seen her as 
a samovar girl, the beautiful purple velvet gown which 
reached to her slippers. Her hair was high upon her 
head, dressed in the style of a Russian lady so that it 
suggested a crown — lifted from the front and turned 
back smoothly against the mass, and then drawn down 
tightly across the ears. Tall, slender, and stately she 
was now, such a woman as might be a princess of the 
blood. Hanging from her neck was a gorgeous string 
of pearls, and from her fingers gleamed jeweled rings. 
And Peter’s heart sank as his eyes rested upon her, for 
once again he realized with a pang that, after all, he was 
but Peter Petrovitch, son of a poor exile, and Katerin 
Stephanovna was of the Russian nobility. He saw a new 
barrier between them, and one which he had forgotten in 
his recent thoughts of her. 

The joy which had come into his face at first glance at 
her was dissipated by his realization that this was the 
end for them, and he bowed a most formal bow. 

She held out her hand to him, and he took it, like a 
man in a trance, but conscious of the jewels on her fingers. 

“ You are going away? ” she said, with concern in her 

299 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


eyes — a concern which he knew to be politeness. She 
was still pale, he thought, and wistfully sad for her 
father. 

“ Yes,” he said. “ I am to go — Shimilin sends me 

word that a private car is in the yards and ” He 

let his eyes wander to the figure of the serving woman, 
who was lurking behind the curtains which led to the far 
room. He wondered what he could say for she seemed 
so comfortable now with her servants — the old woman 
and Wassili — and so self-sufficient. How could she be 
otherwise than rich, he thought, with such clothes and 
such jewels? He wished that she had kept her clothes as 
a samovar girl, and then he might have found it possible 
to give utterance to some of the words which pressed 
him to be said. He would have found it much easier to 
blurt out what was in his heart if she had not been so 
grand and disconcerting in that velvet gown. He sensed 
a hurt within himself that she had done this — could it 
be that she had dressed herself deliberately for their meet- 
ing so that he should find it easy to keep his place? 

“ You have called to say good-by,” she said, and drew 
aside slightly. “ Then you must come in — and we shall 
have a glass of tea.” Then, as if she divined what was in 
his mind about her changed appearance, she added, “We 
Kirsakoffs never mourn our dead with garments — an old 
custom of our warrior clan — instead, we wear our best, 
out of respect for those who have gone — and these poor 
things are the best I have. So please do not think it 
strange. Wassili! Fire the samovar and fetch fresh 
water for a guest of the house ! ” 

“ But are you safe? ” burst out Peter. “ You are in 
danger enough from those who may know you killed the 
Ataman, without revealing your jewels and your good 
clothes! There may be a rising against Shimilin at any 
time — the Bolsheviki — the bandits from Mongolia! It 
300 


FAREWELL 


is too bad that you have put on these clothes — for your 
own safety ! ” 

“ You are afraid I shall be killed because I killed Zoro- 
g off? 99 she asked, with the ghost of a smile on her lips. 

“Yes, I am afraid,” he went on earnestly. “You 
should have remained in the dress of a samovar girl 99 

“ Oh, but I have done playing at being a samovar girl,” 
she laughed. “ If I am to die, I shall die as a Kirsakoff, 
and not as a servant. So you are leaving the city soon? 99 

“ I am leaving at once. Shimilin has sent me word 
that a private car is in the yards — and I cannot disre- 
gard such a hint, for he may mean it as a command. 
And — why don’t you go too?” 

“I? Go? Where?” she seemed amazed at the idea. 

“ To Vladivostok. You would be safe there, and safe 
on the train. Take this chance to escape from the city, 
while Shimilin has control.” 

She sat down and gestured him to a chair before her. 

“ I, too, have heard from Shimilin — about the car. 
But I shall not go.” 

Peter’s face showed his disappointment. He had hoped 
that she might be induced to leave Chita, and by getting 
away from the scene of her father’s death and her old 
home, her memory of why Peter had gone to the city 
would be dimmed. Now he saw that she was determined to 
let him go his way — she wanted to see him no more, she 
wanted to forget him. And yet, he remembered, she had 
told him she loved him ! He wondered if it were possible 
that she had admitted a love only because she wanted to 
save her father. Was that what she had meant when 
she said she had done with playing at being a samovar 
girl? That she had done with duplicity because there 
was no further necessity for duping him? 

“ It is a pity that you will not go,” he said wearily. 
He regretted that he had asked to see her at all, for he 

301 


THE SAMOVAR GIRJL 


suspected that she was inclined to laugh at him now 
because as a samovar girl she had been able to deceive him 
so thoroughly. 

44 At least, I shall not go now,” she said. 44 Perhaps 
later — for there will be nothing to keep me here now.” 

44 Then come ! ” he pleaded, leaning forward, and hold- 
ing out his hand. 44 I know what there is between us — 
Katerin. I know now how wrong I was about your father 
— I can claim no credit for having helped you the little 
I did — I want no credit — but I was blind with hate for 
the old regime. Now I wish to help you ” 

He stopped and shook his head, seeing that he was not 
giving her help to get away from the city — Shimilin had 
already done that if he had offered her the use of the 
private car. It struck him now that perhaps her sug- 
gestion that she might leave later had something to do 
with his going now — she did not want to travel with him. 

She sat tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair 
and looking at the rings on her hand, reflectively, yet with 
something that told she had already made up her mind as 
to what she should do and that they were talking to no 
purpose. 

44 I tell you,” he began again. 44 I shall not go with the 
car, if you will consent to leave for Vladivostok. If you 
prefer that I should not ” 

44 No, you must not stay here,” she said. 

44 But I shall stay if you do not go ! ” he cried. 

She gave him a startled look. 44 Stay? Why, you 
cannot stay here always. I thought you came to say 
good-by.” 

He stood up. “ If you wish it, it shall be good-by,” he 
said. 44 But: I am not going away.” 

44 You must not be absurd,” she said, and stood up 
also, a faint trace of color in her cheeks. 44 Why should 
you remain here? ” 


302 


FAREWELL 


* Because I care for your safety, that’s why ! I pro- 
mised your father that I would protect you and ” 

She tossed her head back, and regarded him through 
half-closed lids. 

“ You may consider yourself released from that pro- 
mise,” she said. “You owe no debt — do not trouble 
yourself on that score, because ” 

“Katerin!” he cried, holding out his hands to her 
imploringly. “ You know what I mean — you know that 
your father desired your safety! Then let us forget my 
promise, but ” 

“ You do not make your promises to keep them, is that 

it? Then you are not bound by anything, Peter ” 

She shrugged her shoulders and turned her face from 
him. 

“Go on!” he commanded. “You were going to say 
‘Peter Petrovitch.’ Why have you turned against me? 
Katerin, I love you, and even if you will let what has hap- 
pened stand between us, I want to see that you 
escape ” 

“ You but want to keep your promise to my father, and 
you think only of what he may have desired about me ! ” 
she retorted with a show of anger, her face aflame. “ You 
have no debt to a Kirsakoff, living or dead, in any way! 
Do I owe you anything? Perhaps I do, but I can pay 
you! What price, I ask? What price, Peter Petrovitch 
Gorekin? ” 

He stood dumfounded and gazed at her. She turned 
abruptly, and opened the top of a trunk which he had 
not seen before. 

“ What price? ” she demanded. 

“ Price ! Price ! ” he gasped. “ Why, you owe me 
nothing ! Please do not insult me — I wished to see you 

again — I wished to say good-by — please, mistress ” 

the word escaped him, — the word of deference to the 

SOS 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


upper class, the word of recognition that she was impossi- 
bly above him in the Russian social caste. 

She let the top of the trunk fall, and putting her hands 
to her face, burst into tears. Just then Wassili stuck his 
head through the green curtains and looked in, startled 
and angry. Peter was about to reassure the moujik that 
no harm threatened his mistress, but before Peter could 
speak, Wassili burst through the curtains and he held in 
his hand a great knife. The Slavic battle rage took pos- 
session of Peter at sight of the knife, and all the restraints 
imposed upon him by civilized life left him in one mad 
instant. He knew but one thing — he loved Katerin, and 
Wassili was going to Stand in the way. The blade in the 
moujik's hand swept away all the fine perplexities which 
had harassed Peter — these points of honor which he saw 
as a barrier between him and Katerin. He snapped out 
his pistol and pointed it at Wassili. 

“ Get back through that curtain ! ” he commanded, and 
stepped forward toward Wassili. The moujik pressed 
back, but did not leave the room. 

“ What’s this ? ” cried Katerin, turning upon Peter 
angrily. 

He made no reply, but shifting his pistol into his left 
hand, he kept Wassili covered with the weapon. Then he 
paused for an instant. Before Katerin or Wassili under- 
stood his intent, Peter seized her with his right arm and 
lifted her against his shoulder. With his left elbow under 
his head, he kept the muzzle of the pistol toward Wassili, 
and backed out of the room through the open door into 
his own room. 

Peter put Katerin upon her feet, just as Wassili moved 
after him — and Peter beckoned the moujik on. 

“And what may this be about?” demanded Katerin, 
staring at ‘Peter as though she suspected that he was 
bereft of his senses. 

“ A marriage by abduction — the old folk custom of 

304 ) 


FAREWELL 


our people,” declared Peter grimly. “ Wassili ! You 
bear witness ! I have taken Katerin Stephanovna Kirsa- 
,koff from her house to mine — and there must be a wit- 
ness. She is now my wife — and she must do as I say. 
So put away the knife — you cannot take from me the 
woman I have stolen ! ” 

Katerin burst out in laughter. 

“ You Peter Petrovitch ! ” she exclaimed. “ I thought 
you were an American — and yet you are Russian * — 
stealing a wife by the old custom ! Do you think I am to 
take this seriously ? ” 

“ You will find it is serious — till you are safe in 
Vladivostok,” retorted Peter. “ Then — well, once you 
are safe, you may do as you wish. But I am master till 
then.” 

She laughed again. 

“ So you are American after all — in Vladivostok I may 
do as I wish! How can you call yourself Russian? Go 
away, Wassili — it is but a joke!” 

Wassili, not quite sure it was such a joke, put away 
his knife, and went back to the far room. Katerin shut 
the door, and then turned to Peter, who stood look- 
ing at her, resenting a trifle her taking it as a joke at 
all. 

“ We shall go aboard the car at once,” he said. “ Get 
ready your baggage, please.” 

“ Ah, he is Russian again ! ” laughed Katerin. 

“ What does it matter if I am Russian or not? ” said 
Peter. “When I try to consider your feelings, you 
insult ” 

“ No, no, Peter,” she begged, and went to him and put 
her hands gently on his sleeves, looking up into his face. 
“You did not understand — you know nothing of a 
woman’s heart — I told you once that I loved you ” 

“Yes!” cried Peter. “You told me that, and then 

305 


THE SAMOVAR GIRL 


you insist upon staying here when I want to protect you 
— when you know there is a chance to go ” 

“ Growl — growl like a Russian bear, Peter ! But did 
you not come to say good-by?” 

“ To take you with me if I could.” He seized her 
hands. “ 0, Katerin, think this over and see what I want 
you to see — when you get to Vladivostok ” 

“And what when I get to Vladivostok? What am I 
to do when I get to Vladivostok? ” 

“ Well, you will know what you want to do, then? ” 

“ Do about what ? ” 

“ I want you to marry me — to go to America — * 
to ” 

She stamped her foot. 

“ You are a hopeless American ! ” she cried. “ I like 
you better as a Russian, Peter Petrovitch 1 ” She dropped 
her head, and as he gave a cry of joy, she looked up, her 
face radiant with joy and flushed with color. 

“ Katerin ! You will marry me? ” 

“ How can I help myself — I have been stolen by the old 
law, and now ” 

“Yes, what?” 

“ I know that you want me — not for a promise — 
but for myself — Peter ” 

“ 0 God ! ” he cried, “ I know now I am forgiven ! ” and 
he crushed her to him. 

Presently there came a knocking at the door of Katerin’s 
room, and the old serving woman came when Katerin 
called to her to enter. 

“ Tell Wassili to pack my baggage,” said Katerin. 
“ We are all going to Vladivostok — at once.” 

“ But let Wassili first go for a priest,” said Peter. 
“And do not cry, my love — we shall both say farewell 
forever to the Valley of Despair, and our journey’s end 
shall be America — our America.” 

306 


FAREWELL 


“ America ! ” she whispered, looking through the window 
as if her eyes saw behind the fog-banks a strange land. 
“ What a wonderful country America must be ! ” 

“ You cannot know till 3 T ou have seen,” said Peter. 

“ I know now,” she replied, smiling through her tears, 
“ I know now, Peter Petrovitch.” 

“ How can you know, my love? 99 

“ Because — I know a Russian who became an Ameri- 
can — the son of a bootmaker — a bootmaker who was 
an unfortunate — a poor boy ” 

“ Hush, hush ! 99 he said, and put his arms about her 
again, seeing where her thoughts were straying — to the 
fresh brown mound on the bleak hillside by the ruin of 
the old prison. 66 They are together, your father and 
mine. Because of that, we shall not forget our Holy 
Russia. Would not they both be happy — are they not 
both happy, knowing what they must know now, and 
seeing what the dead must see? We living think we would 
do one thing, but is it not that the dead guide us, knowing 
better than we what is before us and what we shall do 
before we have finished? Truly, as the wise say, from 
evil good — my love wa-s here but I did not know it — 
and now I have found her.” 

And as the fog shrouded them from the street, there 
was nothing to prevent him from kissing her once more. 

(i) 


THE END 



APPLETON’S RECENT FICTION 


THE VAGRANT DUKE 

By GEORGE GIBBS 

The author of “The Splendid Outcast” has here written another 
smashing adventure novel. A Russian Duke, fleeing the Bol- 
sheviki, must work his way in America. Mystery and romance 
are what he finds as superintendent of a queer old multi-mil- 
lionaire’s estate. 

THE INNOCENT ADVENTURESS 

By MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY 

A family of the Italian nobility are hard up and as a solution 
send their, youngest daughter to search for a husband, wealthy, 
in America. She is a brave and attractive little thing, and the 
author of “The Fortieth Door” has known how to make her 
adventures truly exciting. 


THE RAPIDS 

By ALAN SULLIVAN 

A novel of the vigorous north, which tells the story of a man 
who seeks to transform a simple village into a mighty city. 
In the voice of the rapids he hears the urging towards his 
ambition and the great love which comes to him. 

THE COUNSEL OF THE UNGODLY 

By CHARLES BRACKETT 

A diverting comedy of society life. Peter Van Hoeven, an old 
society man who finds himself penniless, takes a position as 
butler to a very new-rich lady. Unusual and dramatic situations 
ensue. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 


T669 


APPLETON’S RECENT FICTION 


THE SLEUTH OF ST. JAMES'S SQUARE 

By MELVILLE DAVISSON POST 

This master of mystery detective stories has found a new 
method of constructing them that is a big contribution to de- 
tective fiction. These tales carry one to all parts of the world, 
to strange crimes and mysteries. 

THE UNSEEN EAR 

By NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN 

The author of “The Red Seal” and other great successes has 
never built up a more baffling mystery than this. A man is 
murdered in a Washington home; in the room sits a girl who 
is deaf and does not hear what passes. Suspicion points in all 
directions before the final surprising climax. 


PENGARD AWAKE 

By RALPH STRAUS 

The most thrilling depiction since “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” 
of the struggle in a man’s soul between the powers of good and 
evil. Actual psychological fact is the basis of this remarkable 
story of the love of two men, one malignant, the other sweet 
and gentle, for the same woman. 


JOHN SENESCHAL'S MARGARET 

By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE 

John Tempest, imprisoned in Turkey, loses all memory of hie 
true identity. Returning to England he is believed to be John 
Seneschal, and is welcomed by the true John Seneschal’s parents 
and even by his sweetheart Margaret. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

T668 


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APPLETON’S RECENT FICTION 


THE AGE OF INNOCENCE 

By EDITH WHARTON 

This great popular success marks the pinnacle of Mrs. Whar- 
ton’s art thus far. It tells an absorbing story of New York 
Society in its days of innocence, about 1880. “One of the best 
novels of the twentieth century”, says William Lyon Phelps in 
the New York Times. 

MISS LULU BETT 

By ZONA GALE 

A splendid novel that portrays the sudden flowering of hap- 
piness in the life of the family drudge, Miss Lulu Bett. Every 
word of the book counts and the characters, from Grandma 
Bett to the child Monona, are unsurpassed for living qualities. 

CHILDREN IN THE MIST 

By GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN 

Stories that depict the virtues, the limitations, the sweetness 
and the humor of the negro, from the emancipation down to the 
present day. There is a true insight into the nature of this 
people, who after fifty-six years of freedom, still see as in a 
glass, darkly. 

LUCINDA 

By ANTHONY HOPE 

This is the romance of a missing bride, who disappears on her 
wedding day, leaving the world baffled and her fiancee ready to 
pursue her to the ends of the earth. All of Anthony Hope’s 
charming ability and knowledge of how to construct a truly 
readable story are found in “Lucinda”. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 


T666 


APPLETON’S RECENT FICTION 


THE PORTYGEE 

By JOSEPH C. LINCOLN 

Rich humor and insight into human nature are in this enter- 
taining novel by Joseph C. Lincoln. Everyone enjoys its story 
of a romantic young fellow who goes to live down East with 
his grandfather, a typical old salt. This is a best-seller, by the 
author of “Shavings”. 


THE ADVENTUROUS LADY 

By J. C. SNAITH 

“Witty, amusing, as light and sparkling as sun-flecked foam” — 
New York Times. The daughter of an English peer changes 
places with a governess, when traveling to the same destination, 
where each is unknown. The results are highly entertaining. 


NANCY GOES TO TOWN 

By FRANCES R. STERRETT 

Nancy Mary Yates goes to train as a nurse in a hospital. She 
says she is hunting for a “Prince Moneybags”. The reader 
eagerly follows her career, made zestful by her youth and brave 
spirit. Nancy finds some unique characters in her path. 

THE PARTS MEN PLAY 

By A. BEVERLEY BAXTER 

A vital picture of a young American who finds himself among 
England’s parisite, artistic social set during days of international 
strife. The psychology of nations is interestingly shown, and the 
unfolding of character under stress finely rendered. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 


T667 








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